From The First Note Played
by lostinthememories
Summary: Posy drags Gale to a piano recital one night, and after Gale sees the closing act, Madge Undersee, he can't stop thinking about her. Or why she seems to know so much about him. But they've never met...right? Gadge, slight AU. Post-Mockingjay but trust me, this is a very different take on Gale & Madge. No idea how long this will be.
1. Pose

_"Ga-ale,"_ Posy's voice is firm, pleading, and oh, so irresistible. "_Pleeeease_ come with me to the show. Please, please, please."

Apparently there's some concert going on at the Justice Hall tonight, and Posy has been begging me for the past three hours to come with her. "Aw, Posy," I groan, rubbing my face. "I'm tired. I worked really hard today."

Posy's silent for a moment, confused. I work hard every day, and she knows that. "Gale," she whines again. "I really, really want you to come with me."

"You really should, Gale," I hear my mother chime from the kitchen. "Gives you something to do rather than sitting in your room scowling all night."

Posy giggles. "Yeah, Gale," she says, grinning. "You need to smile sometimes."

I sigh. How could I? In a world like this? But I do. "Alright, Pose." She laughs. "I'll go with you. What is it for, anyway?" She gets up from her spot on the floor to sit next to me. She curls into me, and I wrap my arm around her. "It's a piano recital," she says. "Lots of people will be there." I hold back another sound of protest. "There's this one girl, and she's so pretty, and she's so good at the piano," Posy says, her face glowing, excitement in her voice. "I want to be like her when I grow up. Except I can't, not really."

I grin. "And why's that?"

Posy rolls her eyes as if I should know the answer. "Because she has blonde hair, Gale." She rakes her fingers through her own almost-black curls, and sighs lightly. "I wish I did."

"Why would you want to stand out like that?" I ask, rubbing her shoulder. "Like a sore thumb."

"But she's so pretty -"

"So are you." Posy is, really. She has a sharp jaw, sparkling bright grey eyes, and skin somehow unaffected by the coal dust that finds its way on everything in the Seam. "Prettier than whoever this girl is. What's her name, anyway?"

"It's - oh, Gale, we have to go! The show starts in a few minutes!" Posy grabs my wrist, her hand just barely circling it, and she yells hurried goodbyes to everyone as we stumble out the door.

* * *

"Oh my," Posy breathes as she pushes open the front door of the old stone building. The usually dusty floors, walls, chairs and tables are immaculate. Chandeliers hang in a pattern across the gold ceiling, just one of them probably costing more than I've earned in a lifetime. There are white tablecloths covering each round table, candles flickering. There's food at every table, and it breaks my heart to see the literal hunger in her eyes. But we each take a plate as offered and we don't say a word.

After we eat, she leads me eagerly into the theater. Before I know it we're sitting in the front row, lights practically blinding us. People are murmuring all around, and Posy turns around to chat with some people she must know from school. I lean back and close my eyes, waiting for some implication that the show is starting.

"Gale!" Posy giggles, jabbing her finger into my shoulder. "Don't fall asleep!" I sit up, opening my eyes. "I wasn't," I grumble. "Just waiting."

"Well it's starting," she says, her voice hushed. The lights dim and the crowd falls silent. An old man with a crooked bow tie walks out from behind the curtain, all smiles, proclaiming how happy he is we have all made it. He introduces the first act, a middle-aged woman who plays a few boring songs yet gets considerable applause.

The whole show is boring, to be honest. Until the end. The bow tie man returns again from behind the curtain, cerimoniously tapping the microphone before speaking.

"Hasn't this been a wonderful show, folks?" Applause. "Yes, yes, well, it's not over yet! The whole Musician's Committee of the Outer Districts of Panem is very, very pleased to welcome an astonishingly talented pianist to our show, for the very first time!" Applause. This must be who Posy was talking about. The _blonde._ I try to think of all the blondes in the District. Prim. Mrs. Everdeen. Mellark and his brothers. Who am I missing? I try to figure it out, but people are again applauding. I direct my attention to the stage. Someone must be walking out. Dammit, I didn't catch her name.

I lift my eyes to her and forget how to breathe.

The instant she sees the crowd, any professional, poised air she may have had disappears. Her eyes light up; she grins, mouth wide open, red lipstick on her lips. Slightly touseled curls fall down her exposed back. She's not too tall, not too short, thin. Curves in some places, straight lines in others. Her dress is a pale blue, sparkling with gemstones on the tightly laced bodice. The skirt falls from the waist like a waterfall, a high slit in the side that you only notice when she bends her knees to sit at the piano. I clear my throat, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I don't have to look to know that Posy is smirking by my side.

Instead of bringing her fingers down to the smooth white keys to play as all the others have done, she takes the microphone with both hands and excitedly grips it, eyes still glowing.

"Wow, um, this is amazing, you guys!" She gestures to the crowd. Everyone has a smile on their face; there are people whistling, clapping, shouting words of encouragement. "I, uh, well...I just want to say that no matter how much I do this, I still get this feeling of, of -" she purses her lips and looks at the ceiling, trying to find words. "I don't know how to explain it! But it makes me _so_ happy that you all come out here to hear me play. The fact that there are so many other talented musicians who have been doing this for longer than I've been alive...and yet you have made me feel like part of you..." her eyes start to glisten. I can tell she's holding back tears. I wonder why.

I look down at Posy. She's biting her lip and clasping her hands together. "I just feel," she starts again, "like I matter. And this is all so beautiful. Thank you." Then there's more cheering, more clapping. I can't move, I can only see her.

She plays an intoxicating slur of songs, one after the other; she briefly explains each one, but I only hear the smooth, soft sound of her voice, not the actual words. A few times, I think I actually see her look at me. Posy must, too, because she excitedly elbows me each time, raising her eyebrows.

All too soon, the last note plays, and the applause is deafening. An absolute roar. The open-mouthed grin she had when she walked out earlier is back on her face. She looks around, bringing her hands to cover her face, and then stands. "Thank you so much!" she yells, waiting for the crowd to hush. I still haven't moved; I can't. But if she noticed that, then she surely noticed the tranquil, awestruck look on my face.

"So, um," she begins again, twirling the ends of her hair around the fingers on her hand that isn't holding the microphone. "I'll be here for a while, so if you want to come back and talk to me, that'd be cool!" She smiles again as the crowd cheers. "I can't wait to see you!"

She winks, waves, and calmly strides behind the curtain without looking back.

"Gale!" Posy shrieks excitedly. I snap to attention. "Mmm?"

Posy giggles. "Gale, can we go back there? I want to meet Madge so badly!"

_Madge?_

"Who's Madge?"

"Gale." Posy sighs, much like our mother when I frustrate her. "You just spent the last 45 minutes looking at her and barely blinking."

Madge. The familiarity of the name shakes me. But the girl I just saw, no, I've never met her before...

"Y-yeah, Pose," I take her hand in mine and we follow the line out the theater doors. People are humming all around us, and I hear her name over and over again. The long file of people leading into a small room must be where Madge is, so I lead Posy over to the end. "This is going to take forever," I mutter. Posy looks at me with those damn big eyes. I squeeze her hand. "It's okay," I smile. "We'll stay." She grins, jumping up and down. "I'm so excited!"

"How come I've never heard you talk about her?" I ask. Posy frowns. "Whenever I do, Mom just gets sad about how she can't buy me the music." I nod, knowing I shouldn't have asked. I've seen some like it at the Hob, and on the counters of the shops in town. Reflective discs barely bigger than my hand. Used to be a lot cheaper, I was told. But now they're as much as I earn in a week.

The line is growing smaller, and before we know it, there's only one person ahead of us. Posy is practically exploding in anticipation. After what feels like forever, the person in front of us leaves, and Posy rushes up to Madge with uncontainable joy.

"Oh my gosh, hi!" Madge exclaims. She crouches on her knees, her dress pooling around her as she wraps Posy in a huge hug. When she pulls away, she asks, "Did you like the show?"

"Yes!" Posy nearly shouts. "You were the best part. You're so pretty."

A dark pink blush creeps onto Madge's cheeks, down her neck. I force myself to smile down at Posy to hide the obvious effect the smiling blonde is having on me at the moment.

"Thank you, but you're so much prettier," Madge insists, tapping Posy's nose. She giggles. "That's what Gale said, but it's not true," she blurts. At the mention of my name I look towards Madge, who's eyeing me suspiciously. She laughs awkwardly, straightening herself. "This must be him, then?" she clears her throat, trying to regain composure. Posy nods. She reaches out to hug me. I want to hold her in my arms and feel her body against mine, her chin on my shoulder, but it's all too short. "I'm Madge," she says as she pulls away. There's a small smile playing at her lips, the opposite of her huge stage grin. "It's so nice to meet you."

_Have we met before?_ I want to ask. Damn, I want to. But I don't.

"What's your name?" she asks Posy, reaching behind her for a small stack of CDs. They don't have her face on them; just simplistic photos. Piano keys, nature. There's one that shows the flame of a candle. For some reason it makes me cringe.

"Posy Hawthorne," my little sister announces proudly. Madge stops, not moving her gaze from the black marker between her fingers. "Posy," she says slowly, writing it out on the front of each case. With each, she adds an "I love you" and quickly signs her name. "What about you?" she smirks, breaking the strange wall she seems to have built between us. "Something tells me you don't really have interest in a CD."

I shrug. Still smiling, Madge opens a drawer and pulls out a small book. It's all paper, wrinkling at the edges. She doesn't sign anything on the front. Instead, she opens it to the back cover, quickly but steadily writes something down that's definitely longer than an "I love you." I feel my face get hot at the thought of it. Quickly, she hands the book to me, and the look in her eyes tells me _don't look now._

Posy is too busy ogling everything to notice the strange little interaction between Madge and I. She looks back when Madge asks, "Do you guys want a picture?" I avoid answering as Posy eagerly nods. Madge takes a bulky camera off her desk; it's ancient. It can't be the one she used for the huge line of people here earlier. Like she's done this a hundred times, she holds it out in front of all three of us and grins, her mouth wide open, just like on stage. Posy wraps her arms around Madge's waist and I try to lean beside both of them in the least awkward way possible. She presses a button, there's a flash, and in a moment, a white card with a black film over it slides out of the front. In a few seconds, I see our faces smiling back at us. Hell, she looks gorgeous.

This time, she clearly and slowly writes "To the Hawthornes," on the white space beneath the photo. There's something so innocent, so real, about it. It seems like we're best friends, not like some coal-dusted kids from the Seam are standing next to a celebrity. Something about how she knows exactly how to spell Hawthorne (God knows how many times I've had to spell it out for people) and the way she gingerly hands it to me, not Posy, puts me on edge. She hugs both of us again, smiling at Posy, talking with her a bit before a large, muscular man pushes open the back door and says, "Miss Undersee, it's time to go."

_Undersee._

"Oh, I'm sorry, Pose," she says, brushing Posy's bangs out of her eyes. She hands her the CDs and hugs her for what, the fourth time. "I hope I can see you again sometime!" she says, her voice clear and bright. She grins at me and I know it's completely fake. She can't really hide the sadness in her eyes. Almost, but not completely. The man clears his throat, and she kisses Posy on the cheek before we both leave, Posy's goodbye considerably more enthusiastic than my own. "See you," Madge calls quietly as the door shuts behind us.

"Gale," Posy begins as soon as we're outside in the cold autumn air. "How did she know my nickname?"

"Hmm?" She doesn't...

"She called me 'Pose,' like you and Mom and Rory and Vick do."

I stop for a second, staring at the ground. Posy patiently waits. As I resume walking, I say quickly, "I don't know. Maybe it just slipped out."

Posy's skeptical, but she lets it go.

I don't. It's all I think about until I fall asleep that night.


	2. As I Lay Dying

_I have to find her. I have to find her. I have to find her._

Immediately after work the next day, I head straight to the Justice Hall, hoping to find where she is. I read the damn book. The note in the back said, "(Almost) everything I've ever wanted to say to you." It was all poems. Poems about death, hate, loss, anger. Love.

I don't understand how Madge even knew my name.

Katniss probably knows, but she's in 4 with her mom and Mellark; I doubt she'll ever talk to me again. I've figured out thus far that Madge lived in 12. I don't know how she evaded going to school here, though. But she didn't. She seems to be as old as Katniss, and I've never seen her. She may have traded with Katniss at some point. It makes no sense, but it's the only thing that it could be.

Looking back, it was really selfish the way I never went in to town. I always told Katniss it wasn't worth it; I was much too wary of being caught or told on. I had enough for my family with trades at the Hob, I didn't need any townies to rat me out. It was stupid, but after my whipping, I only believed it more. Yet I feel like I've seen her, somewhere, somehow, much more than just a passing glance.

I quickly open the door to the Justice Hall and rush up to the woman at the front desk. "Madge Undersee," I say, breathless. The woman seems repulsed by the coal I'm covered in, but she keeps quiet. "She still here? Madge?"

"Miss Undersee is leaving tonight," the woman says in a high-pitched, clipped accent. "If you wish to speak to her you must go now. Name?"

"Gale Hawthorne."

She raises her eyebrows at me. I don't react. Everyone knows my name, ever since Katniss was reaped. It just escalated from there. "Okay, Mr. Hawthorne, you have thirty minutes. Please understand that Miss Undersee has extensive security, security that reserves the right to remove you at any time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright, then," the woman says, handing me a piece of paper. A pass. "She's in that room over there." She points to an unmarked back door, and I practically sprint towards it. I push it open, the anxiety rising in my stomach.

In front of me is Madge Undersee, yet again.

She sits at a desk, reading, writing something. Her hair is up, red lipstick again on her lips. She's wearing a dress again, nothing like the one she wore last night. It's white, sleeves cut off at her elbows, goes down to her knees. She wears heels, probably six inches high. She looks up at me, blue eyes startled.

"Gale!" she gasps. "What are you doing here?"

"The book," I say, taking a seat across from her. "I don't understand. Who are you?"

She laughs; hell, it's an amazing sound. "Gale, that wasn't an invitation for you to come track me down. All you had to do was read the damn thing."

So she has a mouth on her. "Yeah, but I don't understand. How in the hell do you even know who I am?"

"I've lived in the same District as you my entire life," she says quietly, not meeting my eyes. "I mean, until this all happened."

"Madge, _I don't understand_," I say again, straining my voice. "I know...I know I've seen you before. Somewhere. But I don't know where, and -"

"Stop," she cuts me off. "It isn't important. I didn't mean for you to come find me like this." Pause. "I...I just wanted you to know how I felt. I've always...kept tabs on you."

"Why?" I ask. "You're so...you're..." she looks up at me, expecting me to finish. "I'm not good enough for you," I choke out. "I don't...I'm a criminal." She flinches. "Gale," she says again, her voice sounding like it's on the verge of tears. "I said _stop_. If you really want to know so badly, I...I can't tell you. Not today. It's going to take so much longer than that."

"Then when can you tell me?" I feel myself getting angry. _Stay calm. Stay calm._

"Not today," she repeats. "I, um, I'll be coming back in a few weeks. Maybe then. Just let it go."

Just then the door opens. "Car's here early, Miss Undersee," the attendant who checked me in early informs her. "There are cameras."

"Of course," she mumbles. "I'll be right out!" she says to the attendant, voice chipper and alert.

"Cameras?" I inquire. She closes her eyes before speaking. "Yeah. Always." Then she gives a small smile and says, "Tell Posy I said hello. You have to go now."

"Yeah, about that," I say, getting up. "How'd you know her nickname? Pose?"

"I said let it _go!"_ she says, and now tears are leaking out of her eyes. "Dammit! Just go." She starts drying her tears with a tissue from her pocket, and, not knowing what else to do, I rush out. "A few weeks," I remind her. She doesn't respond.

As soon as I open the door to walk outside, there are flashes everywhere. Cameras. Men and women in Capitol attire, bundled up in coats. "Who are you, sir?" one asks. "Are you the mystery man of Madeline Undersee?" "Are you two in a secret relationship?" "What was the subject of your conversation?" "Is Miss Undersee on her way out?"

"Get the fuck out my _way_," I say sternly, pushing past all of them. Damn, does she have to deal with this every time she goes somewhere? Soon I'm past them, but then she comes out. More questions, more talking. She smiles and waves, saying her thank you's. She stops in front of one reporter, and I can hear her say, "Mr. Hawthorne and I are not in a relationship. We're just barely acquaintances! Oh, could you _imagine_?" My stomach twists. "I want to thank District Twelve for all of its hospitality," she chirps. "It's marvelous here; certainly the rebuilding has done it well." More twisting. "However, I cannot wait to return to the Capitol! I hear there are some new additions to the Presidential Mansion. Oh, I cannot wait to see them. And play, of course!"

This ramble still doesn't stop the ridiculous questions, but Madge gracefully slides into the long black car in front of the Hall and waves as it drives away.

I lean against one of the beams of some building, taking the book out of my pocket. I flip to one page that I dog-eared, and read the words again.

_As I lay dying I'll hear you_  
_As I am dead I'll see you_  
_And as I burn I'll feel you_  
_But through it all I'll love you._

Then comes the first time I've cried in about five years.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_How are you all liking this story? It's a bit sad, yeah, but don't worry. Next chapter I don't know how much Madge will be in it. I really appreciate the reviews and favs! I don't even know where this story is going but bear with me. Am I doing okay? Y'all make me so happy. _


	3. Crazed, I Suppose

**_Disclaimer: I guess I should've said in Chapter 1 that most of these characters belong to Suzanne Collins! And also, there will be times when there is no way to make the story flow without it being partly in Madge's POV. It won't be every chapter, but sometimes it's needed. I've already written the fourth chapter, too, and while this one gives some insight into Madge's story, chapter 4 gives almost the whole thing. How Madge knows Gale can be easily explained but how Gale knows Madge is something I'll save for a later chapter. Also, one last thing, sorry the last chapter was so short. I think Madge would, characteristically, be a bit hesitant to tell Gale everything. These next two chapters are something I'm very proud of. I hope you enjoy them! Tell me what you think is going to happen, too, because honestly I'm a little bit out of ideas. ;-; Thanks so much for each review and fav! Merry Christmas Eve! _**

* * *

_Madge's POV_

"Madge, my dear, you can't do that," Priscilla, my manager, tells me, her voice dripping with disappointment. "Do what?" I ask, absentmindedly re-applying this damned red lipstick I'm always wearing. "Act like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders," she says, sitting down next to me. Her skin is tinted blue, her eyes a freakish purple color. She has scary-long nails filed in intricate designs that look like lace. Her eyelashes must be six inches long. Her lips are too big, her breasts too fake, her skin too tattooed.

"Priss," I start, my shoulders drooping. "I can't do this much longer."

"Whatever do you mean?" Priscilla gasps. "I can't," I say again. "I...this whole happy, perfect, flawless facade. I wish I was this happy. But I'm not."

"Well, then!" she huffs. "We _must_ do something about it! Can't have you sobbing up a storm onstage." _Why the hell not? __**Because.**__ Because they can't know you're human. You have to smile and say thank you and hug everyone. You have to pose for pictures and woo the Capitol. That or they'll all get sick of you and you have to go live in one of the districts living off your money until you run out and you die of starvation._

I know I'm taking it a bit far. But I hate this, pretending to be as happy as I can only wish I am. "I'll be fine," I sigh. "What's going on tonight?"

Any normal person would doubt the sincerity of my comment, but Priscilla doesn't. "Just an interview, on television. It'll be aired in the districts. Did you meet anyone worth your time while in the little rat's den they call Twelve?"

I feel as though I've been punched in the stomach. "Just - yes, just a little girl." Priscilla clasps her hands together, smiling. "Her name is Posy," I say, holding back tears. I _know_ Posy. All I can remember is when I visited the Hawthornes and clandestinely told Hazelle to hide the rest of the morphling I had under a staircase or behind a door or anywhere where it couldn't be found. Posy was on the couch in her brother's arms; she couldn't have been older than five. Her twisted red face is all I remember, the sound of her sobs. Hearing her say over and over, _Rory, when is Gale coming home?_ to no avail.

"Poor thing," Priscilla sighs, pulling me out of my daydream. "Just going to grow up and marry someone just as disgustingly covered in coal as she is."

"Pris_cilla_," I say, my voice growing an edge. "She was very clean. Not all citizens of Twelve are the same." Priscilla is under the impression, like everybody in the outside world that doesn't know the real story, that I'm from District One and that some Captiol lackey discovered me while playing at one of the Victory Tour balls. The truth is different, but I don't like to think about that.

Priscilla looks at me as though she's wounded. _Oh, right. It's rude to contradict your elders._ I let my voice drop to a calm, indifferent tone. "At least she won't be working in the mines."

"Ah, yes," Priscilla coos, as if it really affects her. "Shame for a young woman to be doing all that. See, Madge, this is why you're lucky. Chin up, we've got to go to the studio! Oh, you look _fabulous!_"

I look like a tramp. My dress is tight, some sort of glorified corset that is just barely long enough for me to sit down in. I have on these illegally high platforms, laden with spikes. My hair falls down my shoulders in gold curtains; my eye makeup is too dark, too devilish, just too thick. I have to wear it, though; apparently the "sweet-girl" angle needed to be switched up to something like "little French whore." "You really think so?" I say, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the skirt that isn't long enough. I mentally put on my mask. "I wasn't sure if it was...provocative enough." The words make me want to vomit.

"Oh, Madge! Of course it is!" Priscilla exclaims. "It's stunning!"

I smile through red-coated lips and walk gracefully out the door. Security surrounds me, security that I don't think I need. I brace myself for the cameras, for the lights, for the questions.

"Madeline Undersee! We hear you have a new mystery man!" is the first slap in the face. Priscilla looks at me suspiciously, and I just barely shake my head no. "No, no, no," I deny politely, smiling. Hell, of course I'm smiling. Always. "My goodness, Madge!" one exclaims. "You look so_ vampish_!" "Yes, it's nice to try something new every once in a while!" I beam, grabbing the hands of fans waiting outside._ I'm just like you,_ I want to scream. _I wish you would stop treating me like a god._

Every "I love you" I mutter to the adoring faces of the crowd is sincere. I love the fact that people want to hear me play after years of being told by my family to quiet down. I love the stage, I love the crowds, I love the applause. I love writing notes across a staff, I love the completion of a final measure. I love the "One and two and three and four" I whisper as I play a new piece. I love people telling me how my arrangements have helped them, and I love meeting new people, new friends. But I don't see why it can't be about the piano, about the music, about what I _love,_ and instead has to be about my body and my face and my demeanor.

As I step into the limo, Priscilla is already whispering instructions in my ear. I close the door and give a final wave. "Now, dear," her voice rises as the driver takes off. "I know you've been feeling out of sorts lately. So I talked to Laticia" (my stylist) "and she agreed that we could express your, erm, darker emotions through this new change of dress. Assure the audience, and goodness, assure poor mister Flickerman that you're still yourself. He will be in _shambles_." Yes, yes. This sounds normal. Thinking of everyone before myself.

We arrive soon, and of course, more pictures. I remind myself to _breathebreathebreathe_ and walk straight. _Heel toe, heel toe._ I part my lips slightly, taking shaky breaths, looking over my shoulder. I see a little girl grinning, much like Posy, but younger. I begin to reach out to her, but Priscilla smacks my hand. "You're breaking your aura," she says between her teeth, holding a smile almost as fake as my own. The little girl crumbles when I turn away, and I suck in a breath. _Breathe._

I walk down the halls to the studio and I feel all eyes glued on me. Not exactly me, actually. My body, the way I'm moving. "Chin up," I hear Priscilla mutter behind me. No one asks questions; anyone who tries is shot a look that could kill by one of the overly obnoxious guys in my security team. As I near the door, with a sign that reads: "CEASER FLICKERMAN LIVE!" I hear his ever-whimsical voice cheer, "She's a multi-platinum, award-winning, absolutely jaw-dropping composer and pianist; please welcome Madeline Undersee!" Priscilla gives me a final pat on my shoulder, and I push open the door, every time feeling as terrifying as the first time.

Caesar's mouth drops into a wide o as I giddily prance over to him, hugging him enthusiastically. I don't mind Caesar. As brainwashed as he is, he has a feeling of innocence and genuine curiosity about everything in the world he can reach. We part and sit down. He's still chuckling.

"My, my, Madge!" he exclaims. "Seems as though we've got a lot to talk about! You've changed considerably since I've last seen you!"

* * *

_Gale's POV_

I walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water when I hear Caesar Flickerman's sickeningly happy voice ring in from the living room. Must be on TV. I walk in behind Posy and tickle her. She squeals, twisting away from me. She tries to sound annoyed, but she's still laughing: "Gale! Stop. Madge is on TV!"

With that I do stop, slowly lowering myself onto the couch. I only see Flickerman, asking some nonsense question, when the camera pans to Madge so she can answer.

_Damn._

I curse under my breath, and Posy's eyes shoot daggers at me. This is not the Madge I saw yesterday, hair tied up and her dress pure white, or the one I saw the day before that, curls falling down her back, a long ballgown obscuring practically everything from the shoulders down. This Madge is fucking _hot_, I can't deny it, but something about it makes me uneasy.

Still, I can't listen to her words. The dress, I can tell she hates it, but _damn_ does it fit her perfectly. It's short, it's so short, tight, laced so that I'm sure they're trying to suffocate her. I never noticed how nice her body is; sure, it looked decent when I first saw her, but this is different. Now why would you hide _this_? She's also got on these ridiculous heels again, adorned with spikes that look pretty damn sharp to me. It's crazy. It's Capitol. But fuck, does it look amazing. I almost change my mind when I see how unhappy she really is; of course she smiles and chats it up with Flickerman, but I can see through that. I've always been able to read people, but after yesterday, I'm kind of realizing she isn't as happy as she lets on.

Unfortunately, the completely, utterly _male_ part of my brain overrules the sensitive, caring part, and I find myself staring, mouth half open, nearly the whole time. I feel like I should tell Posy to cover her eyes.

"So, Madge," Caesar grins onscreen. "You evidently look very different! A change from your...sweeter side." A series of photos of Madge wearing sweet ballgowns and blue jeans and brightly colored sundresses covers the screen behind them. She smiles. "Yes," she says, almost absentmindedly, gazing at the collage. She catches herself and looks back at Caesar without missing a beat. "I do! Laticia decided it would help reflect my, I guess you could say, shift in personal growth lately."

"What do you mean?" Caesar asks, as the same question rolls in my mind. "Well," she takes in a deep breath. "I don't feel...quite so...bubbly," she lets out. I snort. It sounds ridiculous, but of course it's exactly what the Capitol wants to hear. "I feel like I'm not seeing the world with this ever-shining optimism anymore. I'm realizing..." she pauses in thought. I can practically hear each Capitol citizen leaning forward in their seats. "I'm realizing that the prince in shining armor I've been looking for isn't actually a prince," she says. "He's...he's got scars, and callouses, and he's always scowling. He's sinned, he's got blood on his hands. But you have to look past that when you want to love someone. How am I to be swept off my feet, and truly be _happy_, when I just accept the first man that comes by because he's flawless?" Everyone in the audience sighs. Posy still sits eagerly, hanging on to every word Madge is saying, but I know it all flies past her. How could it not? But me, now I'm hanging on to every word; as much as I'd love to stare at her body I have to figure her out.

"Well, Madge," Caesar says cheerfully, "a woman like you, you're going to find someone amazing someday. He'll just have to get in line!"

The whole crowd bursts into laughter, as does Madge. "Oh, Caesar," she croons. "Thank you, you're too sweet!"

"Speaking of which," Caesar quips after the laughter dies down. "We hear you were talking to a mystery man last night before departing from Twelve."

I freeze. Posy is clueless.

"Oh, he's no mystery," Madge says, brushing me off like dust on her shoulders. "Just a fan. Crazed, I suppose; couldn't get enough and just _had_ to stop by for a visit." "What did you talk about?" the host pries. "Oh, he just went on and on about how great the show was," she croons. "But I didn't mind; you see, without the fans, I wouldn't be here. I'd serve no purpose!" The sadness in her voice, that nicks me like a razor, is just barely perceptible. "Of course," Caesar nods. I'm sure he's had his share of crazed (I shudder at the word) fans.

They chat a little longer, and eventually, Madge bids him goodbye. Hugging him, blowing kisses to the audience. I don't even notice when Posy turns off the TV and says goodnight, heading into the room she shares with our mother. I sit on the couch, staring at the now blank TV, thinking.

Scars. Callouses. Scowling. Sins. Blood.

_"Just a fan. Crazed, I suppose."_ Somehow I know she doesn't mean that I'm just obsessed with her. She knows that she's driving me crazy; maybe I'm doing the same to her.

Madge Undersee has me thinking a lot more than I'm comfortable with lately.


	4. Almost Everything

The next few weeks go by agonizingly slow. Posy spends all her time listening to those damn CDs, and all she talks about is Madge. It makes me sick. I almost start to resent her, Madge, I mean. She's so _fake,_ that smile and that attitude like nothing matters. It breaks my heart, honestly, because it felt so _real_. The way she picked up that old camera and smiled like she'd just found what she's been looking for her whole life. I've looked at that picture every day.

Every time Posy is watching TV, I make sure to join her. She never fails to smirk as I sit beside her, and maybe she's doing it for the right reasons. Yeah, Madge is pretty. She's funny. She's charming. And yeah, I acted like a twelve-year-old with a schoolyard crush that night. But I can't shake the overwhelming falseness that just radiates off of her with each word she says on the damned screen. Of course, the Capitol citizens, Caesar, even Posy, they don't detect it. But I do, and it annoys the hell out of me.

"Oh, I've _told_ you!" she giggles on screen one day. "He's not my _boyfriend!"_

Though she's been asked about me nearly every time I watch, they never show the photos they surely took of me; they never mention my name. I wonder why. Still, each allusion to _us_ shocks through my veins.

One day when I've decided to actually nap for once, Posy bursts into my room just as I'm drifting off to sleep.

"Gale! Gale!" she exclaims, bouncing on the bed. I groan. "What?" _Fuck,_" I mumble under my breath. "Pose, I just about fell asleep." She stops jumping and falls back on the bed, hair touseled. "Sorry," she says, unphased. "But Madge is coming back again! Tomorrow night!"

Ah, right. Just when I stop watching, overanalyzing, caring. "That's great, Pose," I groan, trying to hide my excitement. As much as Madge has been getting under my skin, I need to talk to her. "Can we," she starts bouncing again, her words becoming staccato. "go-and-see-her-again-be-cause-I-really-really-want-to!" she jumps off my bed and the house rattles; I hear my mother shout her name. "Sorry!" she yells back. "Please?"

"Alright, Posy," I mumble. "Just let me go back to sleep."

She kisses my forehead before bounding out the door. "Six o'clock!" she cheers before shutting it.

* * *

Posy greets me again the next night with equal vigor as she had the night before. We get to the Hall in a flash, and again, we're in the front row. Tonight Madge wears a long black gown covered in dead-looking flowers; a white collar folds down above her collarbone, matching cuffs at the end of black, transparent sleeves. Though her appearance is dark, she greets the audience again with the same happiness, same gratefulness, same awe. Her stage-grin is back, and it stings now, because I know how watery and breakable it is. Her songs are darker; the piano sounds like thunder, floods, fire.

"I just wanted to say something," she says at the end, her speech void of any "um"s tonight. "I want you all to know that I love you."

Cheering. I still don't. Not because I'm dumbstruck, but because I'm confused. Tonight there's no waving. She just smiles, mouth closed, and wipes a single tear from her eye. Then she slinks back behind the curtain like she accidentally fell out onstage.

"She sounded sad," Posy says when we're walking home. "Yeah," I agree. "I guess when you have cameras following you around all the time and all of Panem watching your every move you can get a little stressed." Posy shrugs. "I wish I could be like her."

We've reached the front door. I peck her cheek. "You're fine the way you are, Pose." She starts up the front steps. "I'll be back again later. I've got some things to do in town," I lie. I need to go back and find Madge again when there's no time limit; I need to know _why._

"Okay, Gale," Posy says, confused. "I'll tell Mom. Should we save you dinner?"

I laugh to cover up the tension. "Sure. Love you."

"Mhm," my little sister mumbles as she shuts the door. "See you."

* * *

Again I ask for Madge at the counter. Again I sprint towards the door; different room this time. I'm in a hall, and I'm confused; but then I see a door with her name on it, and I knock.

"Come in," Madge's voice chirps. I open the door softly. It won't help for me to appear _crazed._ She turns around in her swivel chair and I see her visibly deflate. She's changed; denim shorts and a black-and-white-striped sweater nearly big enough to fit me. Her hair spills over her shoulders and her makeup is smeared across her face.

"Sit," she says coldly. "Want a drink?"

"What do you have?" I say, trying to match her tone. "Wine," she deadpans. She walks over to a small red fridge in the corner of the room. "Do you want your insides to burn or do you want to wake up tomorrow with the worst headache you'll ever have in your life?"

Her bluntness catches me off guard. "Um, water?" I reply. "You're boring," she says, almost laughing. She grabs a water bottle and tosses it at me.

She sits down in the chair again and I take a seat on the overstuffed green couch across from her. "The book," she quips.

"Yeah." Silence. " 'Few weeks,' you said. Here I am."

"Hawthorne," the way she says it makes me shudder. "I'm not from District One."

I laugh bitterly. "Hell, Undersee, I didn't even know that was a thing." Calling her "Undersee" makes me uncomfortable. "Why do you lie like that?"

She reaches for a flask, taking a drink from it. "That's not important." More silence. "So, the book. I, um, I've been writing in it since...since I was about fifteen years old." I study her face. Sadness, confusion; a hint of bitterness. "I don't like talking about this..."

I see tears prick in her eyes. "Just tell me who you are," I supply. "Let's start there."

"Well, I was the mayor's daughter, for one thing," she grins. "Don't know how you missed that." "Never went in to town," I reply. "I told Katniss that I didn't deal with townies. I knew there'd always be a few of you willing to rat us out for some extra money." She snorts. "Not like you needed it, anyway."

"Shit, Hawthorne, if you're just going to insult my childhood then get the hell out of here." There's a hint of humor in her voice. "You never went to school here either," I continue, nervously chugging my water. "Music school in the Capitol," she explains. Her voice is becoming hoarse. "My father told me that if I was going to be an annoying little brat with my damn piano playing that I might as well make something out of it." Something aches inside of me. My parents would never talk to me like that. "So I did. And he's just a poor little bastard hiding in 11 somewhere regretting ever having hurt me."

I flinch. "He hit you?"

"No," she says, though she hesitates. "But the words he used, they were enough."

I nod. "So you spent all your time in the Capitol," I say slowly. "Except summers," she says. "That's how I knew you. Katniss told me a lot about you. Told me about how she loved you. Told me how you acted with your family. I came home for the Games, of course, because I had slips in the bowl." I avoid making a comment about how she probably didn't have many at all. That's all over now. "Then when Katniss volunteered," she struggles to keep her voice steady, "I moved back home."

"Gave up school?" I ask, surprised. She nods. "Things were okay, I suppose. Took the time to memorize you." I almost blush. "Then when they announced the Quell, my father was under enough pressure as it was. And then, the whole uprising in 8." I nod. Where is she going with this? "Finally, one day, he just...exploded." She shudders. "Yelled a lot, called my mother a whore. And then he just - he...I went out. To go to the meadow."

"Didn't even know you knew how to get there," I smile. She does too, but it quickly fades. "But I stayed out too late. I came sneaking back into town when, because, you know...all the new Peacekeepers, and Thread...keeping watch." She abruptly pauses, as if she forgets how to speak. I shudder, thinking of the whipping. I almost feel the scars scrape against my shirt. "They saw the bruise," she now whispers. "On my face."

"So he _did,_" I begin. "Shit, Madge..."

"No, stop," her voice suddenly raises. "It's fine." I know it's not, but I look back at her expectantly and wait for her to finish. "I-I broke. I confessed. They didn't charge my father, but they sent me to the Capitol. Then, when I was there, I guess...I just caught the attention of people. And that all became this." She gestures to the dressing room around her. It's not all bad. There's a soft orange rug against the hardwood floors. The mirror is slightly settled with coal. There's photos pinned to the walls; Madge as a child. Madge and a woman I can only think to be her mother. A photo of her as a teenager, holding what I can only assume to be her first album. Her with friends, her making silly faces. Her with Katniss, Thom, Bristel. My eyes linger on that one, and she takes it down. "They were so nice to me," she smiles. "This one's my favorite." I notice that all of them look the same as the one she took with Posy and I that night. "They always wanted you to meet me," she looks at me, her eyes rimmed with black makeup and red tear marks. "But I said no. I knew that wouldn't end well."

"Why not?" I choke out, clearing my throat. "Because I didn't want you to end up hating me." She smirks. "Woulda ruined my fantasy."

"Of?" I say playfully, raising my eyebrow.

"Of being loved."

Silence.

I take a deep breath. "How'd you know her nickname?" I ask again, the question feeling foreign on my lips. "You asked that already," she points out dangerously.

"A few weeks ago, Undersee."

"It's not important," she repeats. "So there's that, Gale. You know my dirty little secrets. Don't tell anyone or they'll have our throats."

"But _why?"_ I ask. "Why can't you tell anyone?"

"The Capitol doesn't like wounded little girls who run away from their daddies to play a piano," she says bitterly, taking another drink from her flask. "They like a sexually empowered sweetheart who says please and thank you and knows how to walk in heels." She rolls her eyes.

"That interview," is all I blurt out. She looks at me, raising her eyebrows "That - you were talking about me, weren't you?" She doesn't answer, so I try again. "Scars, blood..."

"Don't flatter yourself." The remark is snippy, but her tone is soft.

"So you...is your stage thing an act?" The girl in front of me with her makeup smeared and a flask in her hand is _not_ the girl Posy is infatuated with.

"No," she responds after thinking it over. "I...I was like that at first. Then I wasn't allowed to be myself. I had to be sweet and endearing and somehow still sexy and mysterious. I could do all that, but this became a round-the-clock deal." She empties the flask and throws it against the wall. I jump at the sound. "So I became less what _I _wanted to be, and more what _they_ wanted." I nod. I know she means the Capitol. "So I started acting like my old self again after a few months of that hell." There's a new optimism to her voice. "And I'm still in that process. It's been years. I'm hoping if I act it long enough, I'll become it." The silence this time isn't awkward, but it's heavy, pushing the air out of my lungs.

"I really do appreciate all of it," she remarks after a while. "I love the crowds. The smiles, I have to force them sometimes," she admits. "But they're real, at least I think so, because I want to truly feel that way so badly."

I offer her a sad smile. "Your sister," at this, I look up. "I love little girls like her. I love people like her in general. She's the reason that I really love doing this. Not for money or to have my face plastered on a fucking billboard."

"She loves you," I say sweetly. "Almost had to tell her to cover her eyes the other night, though."

She laughs, a real, true laugh. "I didn't like that," she says, shaking her head and still giggling. I raise my eyebrows. "I did."

"Oh, go to hell, Hawthorne," she says, giggling. As she rises out of her chair, I do too, turning to leave. "Wait," she says, as she turns back to face me with the same camera in her hands. Without a word I stand next to her, grinning for real. She does too, snapping the photo quickly. I find my arm wrapped around her waist and quickly pull it away as the photo develops. The sight of it makes me grin again.

She takes a tack out of a pillow on her desk and places the photo by the others. "Anything else you want to say, Undersee?" I poke her ribs. I expect her to laugh, but instead she turns to me with a bittersweet look in her eyes.

"That was almost everything I've ever wanted to say to you," she sighs. "You have no idea, Gale." Her face suddenly looks tired.

* * *

It's later, after I get home, when I realize that she's always saying that. _Almost everything._

_What else is there?_

* * *

_**A/N:** I really like this chapter. Feedback? I've written up to chapter 7 and I think the story is taking a nice form. Next chapter Gale finds a way to get to Madge in the Capitol, and more of his backstory is explained. Gale/Thom interaction too. I really hope y'all like this, it makes me really happy to write it. AND CHAPTER 7 IS REALLY CRAY OKAY I'M SORRY I JUST UGH EMOTION! Can't wait to show you ;) all reviews are really taken to heart and they make my day! Merry Christmas!_


	5. Promotion

It's been a few days since I've seen Madge. She's gone back to the Capitol and lately I haven't heard anything from her that I deem cryptic. I occasionally am mentioned, but again, my name and face are kept hidden.

Since the war, Thom and I have taken up jobs as officers of Twelve. It's like being a peacekeeper, except less harsh. There's lots of office work. Our workplace is a few blocks down from the Justice Hall in a new building called the Amity Hangar. We don't go out arresting people, but rather we deal with laws, regulations, and standards. Our jobs are the ones that require the least amount of travelling to other districts to keep up to date with their policies (and rarely, but sometimes, the Capitol), but occasionally people in my position are asked to travel.

Today is one of those days.

"We are in need of some enforcement to travel to the Capitol for some time," Paxton, the head officer of my department, announces. I usually zone out at these meetings, but at his words, I instantly look up. "You will present to Paylor our current policies and ask if the Board of Representatives suggests any changes. People from Eleven, Ten, and Nine will be there as well. It's a two-week stay." Everyone nods. "Any volunteers?"

My hand shoots up immediately, and I hold back cuss words as I notice my only other competition is Thom. He looks at me quizzically; I never ask for these assignments. Paxton sighs, "Really?" I keep my hand up. Thom rolls his eyes. "We-ell...I guess I could send both of you-"

"No."

My voice comes out harsher than I meant it to. Thom bursts out with laughter. "Aw, hell," Thom mutters, lowering his hand. "Let the kid take it."

I mutter something about _four months older than you_ as I walk up to Paxton's desk to grab the paperwork. As I scan it, I ask, "Will there be any days off duty?"

Paxton walks over to me and points to a section of the contract. It reads, "If said enforcement must be in another District for more than one week, they will be granted the week's end to spend off-duty." I sigh in relief. Four whole days to find Madge and speak to her. If I can't find out who she is yet, I can at least get to know _her,_ and maybe figure out why she's so familiar. Maybe take her out on a date...

"Gale!" Paxton's stern voice takes me out of my thoughts. "Could you please _sign_ the damn thing? We have other issues to address."

"Mmm," I mumble, signing my name on the paper quickly and taking my seat. Thom grins, and I roll my eyes.

* * *

He doesn't let it go, though. As soon as we are dismissed, he catches up to me, that stupid grin still on his face. "Why so eager, Hawthorne?" he jeers, punching my shoulder. "Got someone waiting for you?"

"Fuck off, Thom," I say, pushing the door open to go outside. "I don't hear you denying it," he continues, unphased. "You haven't been to the Capitol a day in your life, what's changed your mind?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, facing him. We've fallen into a steady stride, walking towards the bar in the Seam. "Hell if it doesn't," he quips. "Somethin's up."

"I just want to get out of this shithole." He's barely satisfied with the reply, though. "Then why didn't you take an assignment earlier?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "Fuck, Thom, you're like Posy," I elbow him, hard. "Except a hell of a lot uglier."

He laughs. In reality, Thom looks a lot like me. Same tan skin, dark hair, and tall build. But, as much as I hate to admit it, he scowls less and his eyes are always smiling. "Whatever, Hawthorne," he sighs. "I just hope you bring the girl home so we can meet her."

My stomach sinks; I remember that photo Madge showed me, of her with Thom and Bristel and Katniss. How she said it was her favorite. I almost ask him about her, but I don't know how, and I'm assuming that if she kept me so distant from them that there's a reason for it.

_"They always wanted you to meet me. But I said no. I knew it wouldn't end well."_

"You alright?" I feel Thom poke my ribs. He opens the door to the bar, motioning me in. "Yeah," I say as we walk up to the counter. "I'm doing just fine."

* * *

When I get home that night, I'm drunk as hell. I find my mother sitting up, probably waiting for me, drinking tea and reading a book. "Hey, Ma," I slur, stumbling through the front door. "Whatcha doin' up so late? You don't need to wait for me."

She holds back her sighs of disappointment; she hates when I get this drunk. "I wasn't, Gale," she sighs. "Sit down. Want some tea?"

"Sure, Ma." I run my hands through my hair, trying to find the words to say what I want to. A few minutes of silence pass until she sets the hot cup of tea in front of me, the steam burning my face. I look at her. "Ma." She looks up, question in her eyes. "Yes, Gale?"

"You know...you know a girl named Undersee?"

She sighs. Hesitating, she says, "Yes. The mayor's wife. She...she passed on in the..." before she can say _bombing,_ which I know is still hard for her to say, I put my hand up. "Yeah, Ma, but does she got any kids?"

"She _did,_" she sighs pointedly. I flinch. "Madeline."

"Madge?"

"Mhm. Why do you ask, dear?"

"Never seen her at school. Just trying to think...tryna think who she is."

"She went to school in the Capitol," my mother says gently. "She had problems at home."

"Her dad ever hit her?" I ask, almost instantly regretting it. I hear a quiet gasp, and then: "Why would you ask such a thing, Gale? The mayor? Oh, goodness, no. There was just too much stress with her mother being sick, and her father often was too busy to look after her. Certainly no abuse. He was a very respectable, fine man."

"She's a real nice lady," I mumble. "Pretty damn hot, too." "I hope you don't say those things around your sister," Ma says disapprovingly. "Posy practically sees her as an angel."

My mother didn't tell me anything I didn't know, unless you count that everyone seems to think the mayor was simply too busy to love Madge, which is practically the opposite of what she told me. He certainly had enough free time to yell at, and _hit_ her. "That's 'cause she is," I say a bit too loudly. I'm too wrapped up in thoughts of Madge that I don't hear my mother's _goodnight_ as I open the door to my bedroom, and I forget to tell her about my assignment, too. "She really is," I hear myself whisper before sleep has me in its clutches.

* * *

As usual, my family is supportive of my endeavors. Vick and Rory make the same joke about bringing a girl home, and when Posy points out to me how _Madge will be there and you should go say hello to her I'm sure she'd love that!_ the look my mother gives me makes me blush hard in embarrassment. "Yeah, Pose," I choke out. "I-I'm not sure if I can. She's busy."

"But you'll try?" she looks up at me, her eyes big again, and I smile weakly. Hell yeah, I'm going to fucking try. _You don't even know, Pose._

Ma reaches over and hugs me. "Oh, Gale," she sighs. "I wish your father was here to see you like this. You've become so strong." I grin. "Me too, Ma," I say, my voice low. I wonder what my father would think of Madge. What he _did_ think of Madge. I'm sure he knew her at one point; everyone seems to have, except me.

I bid goodbye to my family and friends the next morning, and I actually play along when Thom says, "Bring back a stunner."

As I board the train, I give my ticket and I'm asked where I'm headed and to sit in the appropriate section.

And for the first time, I smile when the word _Capitol_ rolls off my lips.

* * *

_**A/N: **And bring back a stunner he will ;) thoughts so far? Does it all make sense? Plotholes filled? I really love getting reviews! Hope y'all had a great Christmas! :)_


	6. Records and Encounters

**Disclaimer: This chapter is really short, but it's eventful, and the next chapter really makes up for it I hope ;)**

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The ride is about two hours. I mostly gaze out the window thinking of what I'm going to say to Madge when I see her. _If_ I see her. I decide that after I unpack my things at the hotel I've been assigned, I'm going to head straight to the Records Centre, where I know they keep addresses of every citizen in Panem. I might have some trouble getting her address, but I'm determined. I _have_ to.

A few times, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone glancing at me. Almost a glare. He's a man, I'd say mid-50s, with thick graying hair and a scowl colder than mine. He reads a newspaper distractedly and he makes me a bit nervous. I get a feeling of familiarity out of him, too, but not the same kind as I get from Madge. I feel like I've seen this man somewhere _bad._

I push it to the back of my mind, though. We're moving in to the Capitol; the lights are blinding, colors brighter, crowds bigger. Soon the train stops. We get off quickly, and I walk a block or so to the hotel. Checking in, unpacking, checking out, it's a blur. We're supposed to report to the Capitol branch of the Amity Hangar tomorrow; for now I'm just going to find where Madge lives. It's late, I can't go see her tonight.

After awkwardly asking for directions, I head to the Records Centre; a tall glass skyscraper with Panem's pledge engraved on the side, our flag hung in front. Each district's symbol is a stepping stone in the small garden to the side, the Capitol's seal the largest, underneath a fountain that's probably twice as tall as I am. I walk inside. Brightly-colored red carpeting, abstract painting around the walls, framed photos of each government official. There used to be photos of each victor in past Hunger Games, but all that was voted on ot be destroyed after the war. There's medals of honor hung on the walls, potted plants scattered about. Maps of Panem and maps of the Capitol of all different kinds stand in glass cases. There are chairs and couches lined against the walls, magazines on tables and racks. My stomach turns when I see more than one with Madge's face on it, each bearing a title asking about her _mystery man. _Still, no photos of me are anywhere; the mystery as to why makes me more nervous as I keep thinking about it. I'm brought back to here and now when the woman at the counter, a freakish blue thing with a shaved head and a split tongue, asks me, "How may I help you?"

"Um, yes, um...can I, uh, do you..." the woman waits patiently. She grins, leaning forward on her elbows as if to study me. I clear my throat. "Do you have the address of Madge Undersee?"

Before the woman can answer, I hear a gruff voice behind me. "What the hell do you want that for?"

I spin around, now face to face with someone.

The man I saw on the train.

I suck in a deep breath. I'm bigger. I'm stronger. And I'm...evidently more physically fit. "What's it matter to you?" I ask. "Don't act like you don't know, Gale Hawthorne," he growls. "I'm her damn father." I feel shock go cold through my veins. I remember now where I've seen this man. Suddenly I see him on stage, alongside Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy, reading the Treaty of Treason. The former Mayor of District Twelve, now a _lonely little bastard regretting ever having hurt..._

I now remember Madge saying he lives in 11. I almost forget to breathe when I realize he must be in the same position I am, doing the same job I am, representing his district in the same way I am.

I walk closer to him; his nose is up to my chin. "You little _fucker,_" my voice is low, angry, deep. "You fucking laid your hands on her -"

I forget how to speak as his hands reach for my neck; the woman at the counter gasps, screaming for security. I punch him in the nose, his blood on my knuckle, but all too soon I'm pulled away by a guard. "If you cannot behave," we are both told, "you will be incarcerated until police deem you can go."

I exhale, wiping his blood off on my pants. "No problem, officer," I tip my head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't let it happen again," he grumbles, pointing at both of us. As soon as he walks away, Madge's father is close to me again, but his hands are calmly at his sides. "What do you want my little girl's address for, hm? Gonna get 'er drunk, sleep with her and leave her? Wouldn't surprise me, little slut that she is."

It takes literally every ounce of energy in me not to sock him again, but I just say, mimicking his tone, "What do _you_ want her address for? Gonna go give 'er more bruises? Wouldn't surprise me, little _bastard_ you are!"

He jabs his finger into my chest. "Don't pull anything funny, Hawthorne," he whispers. "Or that's exactly what I'll do. To her and you." He starts walking away and then I call after him. "You keep your distance from her."

"Oh, I will, Gale," he calls back without turning around. Hearing my name in his voice gives me chills. "As long as you do, too."

The woman at the desk doesn't give me any problems; she does, however, write down Madge's address and give it to me with a hand that's trembling so badly that she almost can't hold it. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "Have a nice night." I straighten my back as I walk out of the building. I look fine, but inside, I'm afraid.

He better keep his distance.


	7. Do You Get the Nightmares?

**Disclaimer: When I wrote this chapter I didn't expect it to go the way it did but I'm very happy with it! I hope you are too - if you don't normally review, PLEASE review this chapter, I need feedback on it especially! Happy New Year, I hope it's great for you all.**

* * *

"Can't I ever fucking go _anywhere_ without you showing up?"

Madge's voice cuts through me like a razor. Before I tell her about the hell I went through to get here, with me being scared about her dad and then being told I'm _not on her visitor's list_ and being forced to wait 45 minutes to be verified after I give them my name and be cleared by Madge's security guards and while all this waiting is happening the only magazines there are are ones with her face on them and headlines about her "mystery man" and how nervous I am and how confused I am and just everything I've put into seeing her here, she bursts into tears.

Without thinking I instantly wrap my arms around her, tangling my hands in her hair, rubbing her back, cradling her, as she sobs in my arms. I almost kiss the top of her head, but I stop myself just in time. "I'm sorry," she says, wiping her tears away. I curse myself for not doing that before she could. "I-I'm just...you're all I think about -_ fuck,_ I didn't mean to say that, I...will you stop it I hate you!" She seems uncertain of whether she should hit me or laugh, so she does both as I smile like an idiot. _You're all I think about._ I want to tell her I feel the exact same way, but I don't. Not now.

She leads me into her living room; it's surprisingly homely. Dark wood floors, woven rugs of all different colors like the ones in the Seam. Except not covered in coal dust. A couch wraps around two walls of the room, an every-color striped coffee table sits in the middle with candles burning. There's a large photo of Madge and her mother on one wall, and a few floor lamps give the room a warm glow. There are only a few obvious signs of Madge's wealth; a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, twelve-foot windows on one side that look out to the city, a crystal chandelier. She has gifts from fans on shelves and in shadow boxes all around the room, various awards displayed.

We sit, a little too far apart, on the couch. One of the first things I notice now that I have a good look at her is that she's not wearing makeup. And hell, is she still beautiful. She's wearing a dress again, light blue, lacy. Her hair spills over her shoulders in waves. I like this Madge best.

"So," she clears her throat, staring at her nails. "Why are you...what are you doing here?"

I decide to take the straightforward approach. "I decided that if I'm someday going to figure out why you're so familiar, I should get to know you first." She smiles sadly at me. "One of the first things you should know," she says, "is that I cry way too much." I look at her, pained, and her smile breaks into a grin. "At everything, Gale. It's not like I'm sad all the time."

"I don't cry about anything," I say, almost truthfully. Except over that book you gave me. "Maybe I should cry more. Got any tips?" I grin at her. She throws a pillow at me. "Have everything in your life turn out to be horrible when you think it's going to be good," she says. I almost think she's joking, but then she goes on, "Spend your childhood finding something you love and do it all the time and then have your family tell you to stop. Then finally get what you want only for it to become about everything but that particular thing, and then just fuck up everything after that."

"Madge, stop," I say gently. But she continues. "And then lose all your friends and everyone you love and have no one care about you anymore. That's how you -" she chokes on a sob, hugging her knees to her chest, taking deep breaths. "That's how you cry all the time. And sometimes good things happen, and you're so surprised and you're so _stupid_ that you don't know how to react to them and you cry then, too."

I have never wanted to kiss someone more in my life.

But I just move closer to her, wrapping my arms around her while she just breathes, slowly. Doesn't cry. Just breathes, in and out, and I feel her heartbeat slow. She turns to me. "Ask me a question."

"What kind of question?"

"Any question." She faces me, trying to smile. I move back tentatively, as much as I'd rather stay with her body pressed to mine, my arms around her, all night. No, for the rest of my life.

I try to think of a good question, one that won't scare her or make her cry or make her hate me. So I, being a genius, ask her, "How come when I hear things about your 'mystery man' they never say my name or show my face?"

She stops for a little while, thinking, and I regret asking. But then she turns to me, a thoughtful look on her face. "Everyone in the Capitol knows you lead the rebellion, Gale," she says gently. "It's okay in the Districts, but here? No one talks about the war here. No one talks about soldiers. No one talks about _bombs."_

I shudder. "Sorry," she says, her hand gliding over my knee. My heartbeat quickens. "Can I ask you a question?" her blue eyes meet mine, wide like a doe's, and she looks scared.

"Yeah."

"Do you get the nightmares?"

"Yeah," I say again. She nods. "Mine are about my mom," she whispers. "My dad was here when the bombs hit, and so was I." I'm silent. "I got so _mad_ because I was sent here just before the Quell. After my dad -" I nod before she has to continue; I know she doesn't want to. "And so if I just would have...stayed a little longer. I could have died with her. I _wanted_ to die with her." I still don't know what to say._ No, please don't say that, I care so much about you, I think I might love you, if you would have died it would've been..._

"All my fault," I whisper. She hears me. "No, Gale," her voice is firm. "How the hell could it possibly have been your fault?" I shake my head, looking up at her with tears in my eyes. "My stupid fucking_ turkey,_" I gasp, "and then the _peacekeepers_ and then you got sent here and then your mom _I didn't get her out_ and it's all my fault, Madge! Everything is!"

She sighs shakily and looks up at me; her skin is pale and damp, her eyes a darker shade of blue, rimmed with pink. Her lips are a deep red, they must turn that color when she cries. I close my eyes, I can't look at her like this, and then the next touch I feel is her. Everywhere.

I open my eyes, my heart beating in my ears, and _what the fuck is happening_ she's on top of me, her knees pressing hard into my hips. Her finger traces my jaw and she smiles, leaning in so our noses touch. My hands find her waist and I close my eyes again, smiling with her. We stay like this until our breathing patterns match, until we are moving, living as one.

Then she kisses me.

The feeling rushing through my veins is indescribable, the beating of my heart incomparable; definitely different than any other girl I've kissed. This isn't just lust, this is basic need and, dare I say it..._love._

The kiss deepens as she leans over me; I tighten my grip on her waist. A noise escapes my throat and she smiles, her lips still attached to mine. I go about feeling every part of her body that I can reach, and she slides her tongue across my bottom lip; another noise. Her hand moves down to the hem of my shirt when all of a sudden, there's blinding light everywhere.

I cry out; i_t's not the explosions, it's not the explosions._ It can't be. "Cameras," she says, jumping up to close the blinds. "Fuck you," she whispers. "Fuck each and every one of you."

She doesn't return to the couch; she paces in front of it. "Dammit! Gale, this is bad!" she exclaims. "Gale, they got pictures, they're going to be everywhere, this isn't just some mystery man crap, this isn't just rumors, this is photographic evidence, _fuck, I was taking your shirt off Gale_ this is going to ruin me my father -"

"Madge," I say sternly, cutting her off. She looks at me impatiently. "Madge, I, uh, I have something else to tell you. You're not going to like it, but you should be aware -"

"What is it!?" she screams.

"Your dad has the same job I do and he's here right now representing Eleven and we got into a fight and he told me to stay away from you." I take a deep breath. She slowly walks over to me and sits down, and it stings how far away she is now. "I'm so sorry," she groans, running her hand through her hair. The look on her face breaks my heart. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this mess...I'm sorry I kissed you..."

"No." My voice is firm. "Don't be sorry for that," I soften my tone. "It's okay. We can deal with this."

"You don't _understand,_" she cries. "This will be everywhere." She buries her face in her hands.

"But they're not going to publish my name, are they?" I ask, placing my hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. She looks up at me and gives me a small smile. "I don't know," she says, breaking into a grin. "That was kind of..." she laughs. "Oh, goodness, my mother would be ashamed." I smile, chuckling, but then she looks at me again, her gaze cold. "You said something about my father?"

My smile fades now, too. "Yeah." My voice is hoarse. "He... I ran into him at the Records Centre, he heard me ask for your address."

"What the hell was he doing there?" she asks, more to herself than to me. "Do you think he was trying to find me?"

"I told him he better keep his distance," I say, my face twisting into a sour expression. "But he said the same thing to me."

"And look where we are now!" she says angrily, throwing her hands in the air. Suddenly she starts to panic. "Okay, um, you need to go. Now."

"Madge -" but she's already pulling me up from the couch, pushing me to the door. "I'm so sorry," she says again. "We're not...don't tell anyone we're dating, okay? We're not dating. That was ridiculous, I'm so sorry, I just...let's wait for this to stop, it's not like I'm in love with you, dammit I'm so sorry, we aren't together! Don't tell anyone we're together! Don't tell anyone anything and please don't come back!"

I don't get a chance to say anything before I hear the click of her door shutting behind me. It's definitely locked.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry if you don't like it ;-; I really hope you do. I worked hard on it. Hope it makes up for the short chapters before. Xoxoxo_


	8. 37 Calls

**Disclaimer: Not the most eventful chapter. I re-wrote this like three times, I wasn't sure how to go about the aftermath of the kiss. I hope I handled it okay. See more in the author's note and let me know what you think.**

* * *

_Madge's POV_

I spend the next day ignoring Priscilla's calls (37 so far), drinking strawberry wine, and watching TV. I usually detest hearing anything about myself, but I've given up caring.

"Scandalous photos of pianist Madge Undersee were taken outside her apartment last night," the annoying Capitol woman onscreen chirps. "Stay tuned for the exclusive photos up next."

I roll my eyes. So _stupid._

When the show returns, the photos are plastered across the screen. They're unsettlingly high quality, but for the most part, Gale's face is hidden. "The award-winning musician was seen getting cozy with an unknown man last night," the host says mischeviously. "We could not find his name, unfortunately, but he is believed to be the same man that Undersee was talking to in District 12's Justice Hall last month." To my horror, a sideshot of Gale exiting the Justice Hall flashes across my screen. "He's certainly a catch; this is the first time since Undersee's breakout into the pop culture scene that we've seen her with a supposed love interest."

The show continues and thankfully, it's not all about me. I calm down; I'm a hot topic, yes, but not the _only_ hot topic. It's the Capitol - they've got entertainment everywhere. And then there's politics and tragedies always in the news, too. I turn the TV off and close my eyes. I've been avoiding thoughts of last night, but now they evade me at full speed.

I don't know why I kissed Gale. Dammit, yes I do. The look in his eyes was so sad, so desperate...I've kissed other guys before, yeah, but none of it was the same. Most of it was acting, anyway. Commercials and music videos, photoshoots and then the boys that I thought I loved back in Twelve. I'd always refused a trip to the slag heap. I'd thought I was better than that. I'm doubting this now, though. I just...kissed him. I've been loving him in the back of my mind since I was in what, eighth grade? And I've gone to all this trouble to keep him from finding out it was me who saved his life. I kept him from me as long as I could because I knew it wouldn't end well even before I was everyone's entertainment. And now _this._

I regret it, not because it wasn't possibly the best moment of my life, but because now I'm sure I've ruined all my chances. I acted like a bitch last night. I panicked. And I told him he's not welcome.

I spend the rest of the night crying; this is the one thing I was hoping I'd never mess up.

* * *

_Gale's POV_

I've avoided Mr. Undersee for about forty-five minutes when I hear footsteps behind me that could only be his. I turn around just in time before he can slam me into the nearest wall. But he doesn't.

"Oh, don't worry, Hawthorne," he says coldly. "I'll let you explain yourself." He's seen the pictures. Hell, everyone's seen them. In the tabloids already. Only the people I'm close to know that they're of me, which is good and bad. I shudder at the thought of Posy finding out. My _mother_...Katniss...

Then I say the worst possible thing I could. "She kissed me, I didn't expect it."

He laughs. "Told you she's a slut. I guess since you didn't keep your distance, our little deal is broken, hm? And I don't have to keep it either?"

"You fucking _better_," I growl, stepping closer to him. "She's not going to let you see her."

"I have my ways," he says, matching my tone. "She's used to covering bruises of all different kinds, anyway." With this I'm furious. I clench my fists, trying to think of something else to say, when suddenly his fist hits my jaw, full force. I cry out, and next thing I know, security guards have their hold on him. "Damn you to hell, Hawthorne!" he screams as he is led away. "I'll make sure neither of you ever see eachother again!"

I sigh, my jaw throbbing and my heart pounding. Empty threats. That's all they are. That's all they can be. Maybe he'll lose his job over this; disorderly conduct. It'll make him hate me more, but hopefully I won't see him again.

I report back to the main conference room; it's nearly 10 AM. When I walk in, I'm met with stares, but surprisingly, not ones of judgement or disapproval. The smirks and raised eyebrows are hardly the best alternative, but I'll take them. I find myself wondering how Madge is doing, and my lips start to tingle when I think about kissing her. I take my place at the long table.

Mr. Arlington, the Secretary of Law Enforcement and Equality in Panem, is at the head of the table, and he looks expectantly at me. "Mr. Hawthorne," he nods, "do you know where Mr. Undersee is today?"

"N-no," I try to find the right words. "I...not at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't in the best of moods," I say carefully, "and that explains the, uhm," I gesture to the side of my jaw, noticeably swollen. Mr. Arlington nods understandingly. "So he is in custody?" he asks, eyebrows raised. "I'd assume so," I answer, silently hoping and praying he is. "He was removed from the premises by some officers."

Mr. Arlington sighs. "We'll just have to continue without him, then."

Even with that taken care of, it still takes every ounce of energy I have to actually concentrate on the meeting. The reason I'm here. Not Madge. She's made it clear that I'm not welcome.

My bones feeling heavy, I push the thought of Madge Undersee to the very back of my mind, and shift my attention to the Law Enforcement Policies of Districts Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve.

_Fascinating._

* * *

_A/N: Thoughts? How do you feel about Mr. Undersee? Is Madge's reaction believable? I didn't really touch on Gale's, but I will soon. Gale's trip is coming to an end. How do you think his family will react? I know that there's not too much Gadge, but trust me, they are the only thing on eachothers' thoughts - and there will be another reunion. This fic is going to be longer than 10 chapters, actually. Might push 20, I'm not sure. Madge interview next chapter with Caesar about the kiss - I'm sorry, I love writing things about Caesar! Do you guys like him in this story? Thanks everyone for all of your reviews, especially __**The Pink Archer**__ who has reviewed every chapter. I love you all and please keep reviewing, I've been down lately and your reviews make me ecstatic. Longer chapters ahead! Love you all! xxx_


	9. Heavy Hearts

There's a week left in my trip, and I've got nothing to do. I can't watch TV; there's always going to be some point where photos of Madge and I are on my screen. They do end up showing a few of me leaving the Justice Hall that day, but they're conveniently low-quality and my head is down. Madge's father did end up losing his job. "Mr. Undersee's services are no longer needed," we were told. "A replacement from his District will be arriving shortly."

So as much as I shouldn't, I close my eyes and think of Madge; her taste, her feel, her scent. How her lips felt like velvet on mine. How her finger gently tracing my jaw was the most intimate gesture. It was probably nothing to her, but I felt so connected, like a hole inside me was being filled; I just felt it grow wider whenever I'd kissed some girl behind the slag heap. The desperation, the franticness, as her hands ran through my hair; how my hand fit perfectly against the curve of her waist.

The only thing I'm not sure of is _why_ she kissed me.

Was it because I was upset? Because _she_ was upset? Because she'd always wanted to? Or because she..._loves me?_

They're all possible except the last one. She made that clear when she'd pushed me out her door. "It's not like I'm in love with you," she said. But the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. She told me in her dressing room that night that she took the time to memorize me. Then she told me that I'm all she thinks about. Her laugh rings through my mind,_ "I didn't mean to say that...will you stop it, I hate you!"_

So maybe the last one is possible.

I can't think about it anymore, so I turn on the TV. After flipping channels for a little while, I see her face.

The headline isn't about me this time; the program's already halfway through, maybe they mentioned that before, but not now. "Undersee is scheduled for another interview with Caesar Flickerman at 8pm tonight," is all I hear, and then the program fades out. I know what I'm watching tonight.

* * *

_Madge's POV_

I finally answer one of Priscilla's calls. She's furious. "Just because you make some rash decision doesn't mean you ignore the rest of the world, Madge!" she screeches. "Mr. Flickerman wanted to shoot a promo commercial with you, but I had to tell him you weren't answering my calls! This is utterly unprofessional; wait until the press finds out!"

"The press have already found out enough about me to feed the people for months," I say dryly. "I doubt they'll care I didn't shoot a stupid commercial."

"Madge, stupid is not a ladylike word. And please, don't act so bitter at your interview tonight! Surely you know about that?"

"Just saw the newscast," I deadpan. "I'm just bursting with excitement."

Priscilla sighs heavily. "Put on something pretty," she says, annoyed. "I expect you here in half an hour. Put on a smile!" I almost say _don't you mean my mask?_ but she hangs up.

I've been in the same clothes since yesterday; I can still smell Gale on this stupid dress.

* * *

"This is a disaster," I hear Priscilla groan as I open the door into the hair/makeup studio. She looks at me, and her face brightens a bit. "Oh, well, at least you look stylish in the face of trouble." Gale wasn't trouble. I was. I _am._ I kissed him, and I'm still telling myself I don't know why. Suddenly I think of my father, and am unable to stop some hot tears from falling as I take a seat in the makeup chair.

"Talk to me, Madge," Priscilla says, grasping my hand as Laticia takes out my ponytail. I didn't even brush my hair. "I'm scared of my father," I squeak. Priscilla can be obnoxious, materialistic and one-dimensional, but she does care for me. Her face brightens. "Oh, didn't you hear?" I shake my head. "Your father got discharged from his job and sent back to District Eleven."

I can't stop the smile from forming on my lips, bubbling through my tears. Priscilla opens her mouth to speak more, but I hold up my hand. "Don't even tell me why," I chuckle. "I don't need any more reasons to hate him than I already do."

With this, Priscilla's face darkens. "Alright, dear, but we must talk about how to go about this little scandal." I sigh. "I'm not going to judge you or pry any explanation from you or give you my opinion," she rambles, "but you need to play it off like it's not a huge mistake. Laugh along with Caesar, make some jokes, but don't give him any more details, and try to end the conversation as soon as possible. I love giving the Captiol something to buzz about" not like it matters if _I_ do, "but this is not going to be it. Did you see those pictures? He was practically violating you!"

My stomach turns. "I kissed him, Priss," I sigh. "I completely initiated all contact."

I hear her mumble something like _unladylike behavior_ under her breath before she says, "Well, he certainly kissed you back!"

"How could you blame him?" Laticia quips. It's the first thing I've heard her say this whole time. I blush. "Madge is practically a vixen!" I roll my eyes.

"I'm very surprised that the photos aren't practically world news," Priscilla remarks. "I mean, talk about atrocities! Panem's sweetheart, all wrapped up in a man! Who was he, anyway, Madge darling?"

I clear my throat. I don't want to answer this question, but I go with the answer everyone wants to hear. "He visited me in District Twelve," is all I can muster. "My original 'mystery man.'"

"Oh, so he is! I had a feeling."

"Alright, Priss, stop talking for a little while. I need to do Madge's makeup," Laticia moves in front of me, dragging her makeup cart with her. "How would you like if I did a cat-eye? Red lips to contrast your sweater?"

As if I really care, but I nod. "Whatever you say, Laticia."

She sighs. "Well, you look good in practically everything. I envy your beauty." "Thank you," I reply. _Maybe you'd have some beauty if you hadn't re-molded your entire face and dyed your skin blue,_ is what I want to say. But I must respect my elders. Be kind to everyone.

When she finally holds the mirror in front of me, I grin. I look pretty nice, I suppose. My hair is back in its ponytail, the front section framing my face, big, loose curls. She slides a sparkling diamond headband in, tucking in the ends of the front piece behind my ear. "Thanks," I say, standing up and hugging her. I'm about to walk out into the hallway when she stops me. "Dear heavens, Madge!" she exclaims. I turn around. "What sort of shoes are you wearing?"

I look down and realize I'd put on my slippers. I burst out laughing. "Got any extras?" I ask, following her to a closet in the corner.

"You're lucky," she scoffs, trying to hold back a smile. She hands me some black heels. As I slip them on, she coos, "I surely have my work cut out for me with you."

I hug her again, before Priscilla opens the door and ushers me out. She tells me I look beautiful and I thank her. Then she drills me again on what to say, and I hear Caesar announce that Panem's sweetheart is here again and she's _certainly got secrets to spill_ and I walk out.

After the cheering, clapping, hugging, small talk, I sit in the chair across from Caesar. I hold back a cringe as one of the photos of Gale and I fades onto the screen behind us. "Well, well," Caesar begins, "I think there's just a few things that we all want to know. Am I right, folks?"

Some more cheering. "Ask away," I say, my tone bright, reminding myself constantly to smile. "Well," Caesar chuckles, "who is this young man?"

I laugh along with him, then face the audience. "Do you all remember my mystery man?" The response is deafening. "Well, seems as though he's not such a mystery anymore!"

Caesar's laugh is the loudest. "He most certainly is not!" The crowd settles, and he leans in, placing his hand on my knee. "Now, Madge, do I hear wedding bells?"

The crowd laughs good-naturedly, but my cheeks run hot. "Oh, Caesar, I don't think so. I'm not sure he likes the attention. I think this scared him off." I play up a disappointed, heartbroken face that to my dismay, comes quite naturally. The crowd makes sympathetic noises. Caesar looks at me with a novel empathy in his eyes. "Well," he begins slowly. "I'm sure you'll find someone whose love is so strong that no amount of attention can deter him."

I hesitate. Gale isn't afraid of me, is he? "Me too, Caesar," I sigh. "Me too."

His sympathy is gone; now he grins. "Could you quite possibly tell us his name? Or has dear Priscilla warned you not to do so?"

I giggle. He knows her too well. "Unfortunately, she did tell me not to go into the details." It's like I'm a puppet. I'm only doing things because Priscilla tells me to, not like I have motives or feelings or opinions. And all this smiling, I almost can't take it. It's like being told to laugh at a joke you don't understand. But you _want_ to understand it, so you can laugh. I want to smile this much just because I _am_ happy, not because I have to _look_ happy for the entertainment of others.

The subject fades from Gale to my actual music, and I distract myself, my smiles becoming a bit more real. "Tell us, Madge," Caesar smiles, "what direction do you want to take for your next escapade across Panem?"

Ah, yes. I have that to plan, too. "Well," I look up at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say. "It'll definitely be very personal, as all my shows have been." Caesar nods. "But I think with the upcoming shows I'm planning, the audience will definitely leave with something to think about."

He nods again. "Many a time, there are other acts in front of you," he says. "What have you learned from your musical peers?"

I think for a little while, then say, "It keeps me grounded." Caesar leans forward, elbow on his knee, waiting for me to explain. "I think a lot of people in this industry lose sight of the fact that they aren't the _only_ thing people talk about. Everybody else that shares the same passions as I do, who love the sound of the crowds and the applause and the feeling, they remind me that we're all just people doing what we love. It's about the music, the sounds," I take a deep breath. "Not about our choices or beliefs."

There. That wasn't defiant or whiny, was it? I'm constantly being reminded not to call anyone out, not to complain about fame. _"It's the path that was chosen for you, dear,"_ Priscilla always reminds me. _"Make the most of it - it's not a bad place to be."_

Yeah, that's easy for her to say behind the curtain.

"Oh, Madge," Caesar slyly grins. "You're very well-spoken, but how could we not want to be let in on your life? It's certainly proven to be interesting."

The audience laughs, clapping and cheering, and I'm furious. But I laugh along with them, Priscilla's reminders echoing in my ears. "True, Caesar," I chuckle. "I'll remember to close the curtains next time."

Somewhere, the time buzzer sounds, and we both stand, hugging. I wave goodbye to the audience and I couldn't walk _faster_ off that damn stage.

* * *

Gale's POV

I turn off the TV, a scowl twisted onto my face. _Next time?_ She isn't going to let there be a next time. She looked beautiful, her voice smooth, her words definitely beyond her years. I picked up some slight signs of discomfort, but damn is she good at masking them. And my hatred for Caesar Flickerman is confirmed when he makes a joke out of her plea for normalcy.

I ache for her.

Slowly, like a machine, I turn off the TV, brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. As I turn out the light, her face finds its way behind my eyelids, her voice into my ears. My heart has never felt so heavy.

* * *

_A/N: I LOVE writing Caesar into this story. He's seriously my favorite personality. Gosh. Gale comes home next chapter! How do you think everyone will react? Someone is going to show up in Gale's life in the next few chapters and help him put some pieces together. They know eachother, but...Idk, I don't want to give it away! How is this story going, do you think? The start was rocky because when I began the first chapter I meant it only to be a oneshot, but, you know. So if/when you review this chapter let me know what you think of it and the story as a whole please! I love that some new people are starting to review! You have no idea how happy it makes me. And I have no school tomorrow, -40 degree temps, so I mayor many not put up chapter 10. ;) I'll definitely keep writing! Sorry these are so long! :P_


	10. Don't Listen

**Disclaimer: Gale's going home! I know y'all don't want him to but it's for the best of the story, I already have it all planned. It's for the best of the story. It'll all work out. :)**

* * *

"Let's get away from here, hm?"

Her voice is soft against my ear, and I wrap my arms around her. "I'd like that."

She laughs; the sound makes me smile. Her lips travel down my neck. "Why are you so damn mysterious?" I ask. But she's quiet. "Madge,"

"Shh," she brings her finger to my lips. "Don't complicate things."

"But Madge, I -"

Before I can continue, I don't feel her in my arms anymore. It's cold. She's gone.

I scream her name, and then I wake up.

* * *

"District Twelve, train leaves in four minutes!"

All I've thought about since last night is _her_. I didn't get the chance to talk to her. Maybe it's for the best; maybe we were never meant to be anything. The thought stings, but there's nothing I can do about it now.

"Gale!"

I turn around and she's running towards me, people chasing after her, body guards trying to keep up. They aren't happy to see me. They definitely know who I am. Cameras flash, questions are directed at both of us, but this time I don't care. She wraps her arms around me and I instantly do the same. "I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I...I'll come back, okay? I'll tell you everything -"

I pull away. "You don't mean what you said?"

"I..." she sighs. "Just, just don't..."

Surprisingly, I feel tears prick at my eyes. "Don't do this," I warn her.

"I don't know," she finally says. "But just...don't listen to anyone that says anything."

"What do you mean?"

"People are going to tell you bad things. You're going to hear bad things. And please, don't listen."

She hugs me again, but our hearts aren't in it. The one-minute whistle blows. "I'll see you again," she says, certainty in her voice. "I'm...I'm really sorry."

I can't think of anything to say, so I just bring my fingers up to her jaw, feeling her soft skin one last time. Before she can add anything else, I turn around and board the train.

* * *

The ride home is filled with anxiety. Surely everyone will have opinions of me. I got a few strange glances in the Capitol, but at home? Everyone will know it was me. If anything I may have been recognized as a soldier, but in 12 I'll be very bluntly known as Gale Hawthorne, the scandalous man caught kissing Madge Undersee.

I get looks on the train, too, but I ignore them. How am I going to explain this to my family? Ma? Thom? _Posy?_ I wonder what Katniss and Mrs. Everdeen think. I groan. Out of all the girls I could have fallen in love with, it had to be Madge fucking Undersee, who just so happens to have people interested in her, lots of people, with cameras and opinions.

What did I expect?

Then I ask myself again if I really do love her. Hell, I don't even know exactly who she is. This leads me to start listing off the things I _do_ know. With each thought, my stomach twists more and more.

She was from 12. Her father dislikes her. She was friends with all my friends, she kept it all a secret. She smells like vanilla, like the meadow, like clean linens. She forces smiles hoping that they become real. She gets the nightmares. She has other things to tell me. _She understands me._

I get off the train confused and angry. Who does she think she is? Leading me on, asking me my life story, _kissing_ me. Invading my dreams. Telling me that we're nothing, then coming and finding me and making me feel like we are.

The wind is cold as I step off the platform. I am met immediately with Thom's gaze.

"You know, Gale," he says, trying not to smile. "When I said to bring back a stunner, this isn't what I meant."

Despite everything I can't help but laugh, so hard that he joins in, and there's people staring. Oh well, not like I'm not used to it. "You have a lot of explaining to do," he says, throwing his arm around my shoulder. I've missed him.

* * *

"So, Gale Hawthorne, talk of the town," Thom says as we sit at a table with our drinks. I roll my eyes. His tone, though, isn't judgemental or disapproving. He seems almost...proud.

"You know her, don't you? Or you did."

His eyes grow darker. "She was a townie," he begins. "Why would I-"

I hold up my hand to stop him. "She told me, Thom."

"About the m - wait, she told you about what?"

I roll my eyes. "You guys were like, best friends! I saw the damn pictures. Why didn't you ever tell me about her?"

"I wanted to," he says, looking up at me. "We all wanted to, but she wouldn't let us."

"Why not?"

He doesn't answer at first. I begin to think he's formulating some sort of lie when he says, "She liked you a lot."

"So she avoided me at all costs." My voice grows an edge.

He shakes his head. "Those townies, you know how they are."

I slam my fist on the table. "Thom, you're lying."

"Well," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "She just didn't want you to dislike her. She always thought you hated her because you didn't trade at her house with Katniss. We couldn't explain to her that you just didn't like town. She took it personally."

I numbly tap my fingers on the side of my glass. I can't process all of this.

"Ain't she a good kisser?"

I look up. "You've kissed her?" Although I know it shouldn't, this causes a flare of anger in my stomach.

"Relax, Gale," he chuckles. "I've got Bristel now. We were kids. Seventeen."

"But you've kissed her."

"Hell, Hawthorne, yeah I kissed her."

"What was it like?" It's a dumb question, but I ask anyway.

"Wouldn't you know?" he laughs. "She's good. Never let me take her to the slag heap. Always told me that it was too dirty there."

"Couldn't imagine her there anyway," I murmur.

"Right? She knew what she was doing, though. Definitely on my top 10."

I roll my eyes. Then a strange feeling washes over me. "Did she ever..." I look up at him, and I feel my face grow warm.

He chuckles. "She's a virgin. Far as I know." He must see the look of shock on my face, because he laughs again and says, "She didn't like that kind of stuff, Gale. We could barely ever get her to drink, even. I can count on one hand how many guys she's kissed and how many drinks she's had."

I remember seeing Madge drink out of that flask that night in her dressing room. "But she does now," I say.

"She still probably doesn't very much," he says. "It reminded her too much of her dad."

"Her dad?"

He looks up at me, confusion etched in his features. "She didn't tell you why she left here?"

"Yeah, she did," I say. "She said he hit her once."

"Oh, Gale," he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "He was a raging alcoholic. It wasn't just once."

"What do you mean?"

"It was all the time."

I don't know what to say; confusion and hurt wash over me. Thom clears his throat. "So, uh, what are you gonna say to your mom?"

I laugh sarcastically. "I'm more worried about what I'm going to say to Posy."

He smiles. "Close the curtains next time."

* * *

"Gale Hawthorne!" my mother laughs, trying to sound stern as she hugs me. "What in heaven's name do you have to say for yourself?"

We walk into the living room. Posy sits on the couch, and she has her arms crossed angrily, but she looks up at me and I know she's trying not to smile. My mother's calm reaction isn't normal, but Posy's is. I grin and tickle her; she squirms away.

"Are you guys going to get married?" she asks as I sit beside her.

"Well," I sigh, "Madge is a really nice girl, but I don't think she likes me anymore."

"But do you like her?"

"Posy," my mother says gently, and Posy runs out of the room, giggling.

Ma takes a seat next to me. "Gale," she says, her voice warm but serious. "Talk to me."

I sigh. "She's not like the rest, Ma," I assure her. "It's all so confusing because everyone seems to have known her but me."

She nods. "It's unfortunate you didn't want to go into town back then," she says. "Madge really liked - likes - you."

"So I've heard," I sigh. "What did Posy say when she saw?"

"She said 'I knew it.'"

I chuckle. "And everyone else?"

My mother sighs. "Everyone who knew Madge said it was a shame. Everyone who didn't weren't so kind."

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I...she kissed me first. We were talking about the nightmares, and I started crying, and..." my ears get warm and it's becoming harder to breathe.

Ma just gets up and hugs me, whispering in my ear, "Do what makes you proud."

* * *

_A/N: can you tell if Gale's moods are changing? Some big things happening next chapter. Last part will be Madge's POV. Let me know how you think the story's going! _


	11. What Am I?

**Disclaimer: so when I said that the last part of this chapter would be Madge's POV, it was 3am and I was thinking about the chapter I was currently writing (chapter 14)...so yeah, this is all Gale's POV. He's really starting to feel worse and worse, I tried to build it up a little over the last few chapters. I hope I did okay. I also wrote a really sad Prory scene but then I remembered PRIM IS DEAD THIS WOULD LEAD NOWHERE omg okay just read**

* * *

I wake up, finally in my own bed, frustrated. Madge has found her way into my dreams again. Same thing, different words. She told me _I_ was the strange one, that _I_ was the one that needed to be figured out. She didn't disappear this time; she stayed, and what happened after that brings butterflies into my stomach.

I look over at the clock and sigh; I'm up two hours earlier than usual. Damned time difference. When I realize attempting to go back to sleep is futile, I roll out of bed and get dressed. When I walk out into the kitchen, my mother raises her eyebrows.

"You're up early, Gale," she says. I haven't seen her in so long, talked to her. "Time difference," I mutter as I take a seat at the table.

She turns off the coffee maker. It's a sound I still haven't gotten used to hearing. After the war, 12 was rebuilt; it's better in some ways, worse in others. We finally have a real house, not a shack like before. It has electricity and running water, insulation and heat. Everything still has a faint dusting of coal. My mother hates it, but it reminds me of my old life, before everything. My job is almost always enough to provide, but there's times when I hear _Mom my shoes are too tight_ or_ I ran out of lunch money_ or the worst, _I'm hungry,_ and sometimes there's nothing I can do for the time being. Posy doesn't remember as vividly as Rory and Vick do, the gnawing pains and fatigue that come with hunger, and I hate that she has to even know the feeling at all. Especially after all this time. My mother does, though I know she hides it. She still does laundry, but what with electricity always coursing through the District now, most people use washing machines. The smile that breaks out across her face when she hears "But no machine could ever do as good a job as you, Hazelle," is a smile that gives me hope. I wish my father could see it.

She sets a cup of coffee down in front of me. "Why aren't you mad?" I blurt as she sits down with her own.

"I'm not mad," she nods thoughtfully, "but disappointed."

"In me?"

"No, Gale," she smiles sadly. "Madge always had an eye for you. And it breaks my heart that you had to find out this way. It's ridiculous, the way they spy on people like her."

People like her. _Celebrities._ Far too good for someone like me: _Criminal. Fighter. Killer._

"Was she...did she ever help you? You know, charity?" I wrinkle my nose.

"She was very _thoughtful,_ Gale," Ma says, a warning tone to her voice. She thinks - knows - I'm far too stubborn to accept anything from someone like Madge Undersee (except kisses). She's beautiful, she's funny, she's intoxicating, complicated...but she's one of the last people I want to envision helping my family, especially in our darkest days.

Ma goes on. "She hated seeing anything bad happen to people; no matter how much she hurt, others were her first thought."

"But did she help you?"

Ma hesitates, but then says quietly, "Once."

"Why?" I ask, at the same time she says, "Her father didn't like her being so kind, he thought none of us deserved it."

That reminds me. "At the Records Centre in the Capitol, I ran into him." She looks up. "He used to have the same job as me, in 11, and we got into some fights because he didn't want me seeing Madge."

She sighs, but surprisingly doesn't comment.

"He threatened to hurt us both," I say angrily. "And then he...he lost his job because he picked a fight with me."

She lifts her head to me. "Do you think he meant it?" I feel like she knows the answer; it's unsettling how unsurprised she is.

I shrug. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Might be a little scared of me, though." I smirk, but soon it goes away. "I'm worried he'll keep looking for Madge - I know he'll hurt her if he finds her."

"Let's hope to God he doesn't," she says.

No assurance, no kind words. I thought she said the mayor would never hurt his children.

I add this to the everlasting list of things I can't figure out.

* * *

It's a Sunday, so I decide to go take a walk. The sight of a clear horizon, no buzzing fence in the way, never fails to make me smile.

At the edge of the Seam I see a crowd, so I walk over to it, ignoring the withering looks cast my way. I find Thom, who greets me with a smile.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Rumor has it that Katniss and Peeta are having a house built here in the Seam," he tells me. My blood turns cold.

"What?"

"That's what's in the newspapers in 4," he tells me, shrugging. "She's quoted as saying that it's just a 'vacation home.'"

I snort. If Katniss did say that, it's a coverup. Why she'd want to come back to Twelve, though, is beyond me. Especially because _I'm_ here.

"Maybe we can get the gang back together," Thom remarks, smirking. "Bristel and I, Katniss..._Madge_..."

"Yeah, so you can kiss her again?" I retort, grinning. "I haven't gotten over that."

"She never tried to take _my_ shirt off, if that makes you feel better," he teases.

"Go to hell," I mutter, still grinning. "So when is ol' Catnip coming back?"

"I don't know, apparently she wanted to keep it sort of hush-hush," he says. "Do you hope she does?"

The thought of it brings too many emotions; fear, anger, joy, excitement, nervousness, confusion. And like I have so many times lately, I push them all far back into my mind. Thom looks at me worriedly.

I resort to the response I feel is best: "I don't care."

* * *

"Did you hear?" Rory asks me as I push open the door. I roll my eyes, but nod.

He looks at me, confused. He's grown quite a bit; he's almost as tall as I am. He has this odd auburn hair - we used to tease him for being adopted until our father told us one night that he's pretty sure his grandmother's hair was _almost_ that color. His skin is paler; still olive-colored but light enough to have freckles that I (in my opinion, fortunately) was able to somehow evade. He's not bad looking.

"Aren't you glad, though?"

"I don't know, Rory," I say, giving him a tired glance. "I don't like getting attached, much less reattached."

* * *

Even with what she said, I've been trying hard to push Madge from my mind. But every night I feel her touch, I hear her voice. Time goes by slowly.

I hear her mention returning to 12 when Posy's watching TV, disinterested. "Don't you want to go?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "It would feel weird."

I take this as _you've ruined it._

* * *

Weeks go by; I can see roughly how many days have passed by going out to see how far the construction workers are on Katniss' house. It's coming along; I guess the rumors are true.

The depression I felt after the war is slowly creeping back up on me. My mother is growing more tired. All anyone talks about is Katniss' return and _how is she going to socialize with these people_ (like me)? Not only is my name coming out of strangers' mouths here, but I still haven't completely disappeared from the Capitol's radar. Mention of me or Madge or us isn't unheard of yet. I don't jump on any more opportunities to go to the Capitol.

People do say bad things. I get withering glances. I hear people outside my door and inside my television assume things about Madge and I. Things about how it was planned, how it was a publicity stunt. At one point I hear someone call her a whore. I've become incredibly good at self-restraint. If she's a _whore,_ than what am I? What business of theirs is it? _Why is it such a big deal?_

I try, I try so damn hard not to let it get to me. I remind myself of Madge's words: "People are going to say bad things, you're going to hear bad things...don't listen."

I wonder how she just _doesn't listen._ It must be harder for her.

I try to convince myself I don't care, but I fail, yet again.

* * *

_A/N: so what do you think of Katniss and Peeta returning? I feel so bad for Gale :( Let me know what you think and if you think this is developing well, I really appreciate it!_


	12. Broken Windows

**Disclaimer: sad-ish chapter :( there is kind of a time gap between chapter 11 and this chapter. I didn't want to rush it, but I didn't want to give you a bunch of boring filler chapters either, so yeah. You can assume a few months, two or three maybe, have passed. **

* * *

I register first the broken window, then the blood on my fist, hot and dripping onto the floor. It'll stain.

"Dammit!" I scream, breaking into sobs. I curl into a ball and let myself cry.

I almost can't believe how fast I've gone downhill; it was slow, my days getting worse, and now it's all at once. It was just a few months ago I was looking at an awestruck Madge Undersee waving to a crowd and making friends with my baby sister. Then I fell in love, I'm sure of that now; the hints, the inklings, that I've seen her before that, they haunt me. Every time I've brought it up to my mother or Thom, something else came along and now I've convinced myself there's nothing to find out. Thom has such a good alibi I'm almost certain he's being honest, anyway. And why would I expect him or Ma to know anything more than they've told me?

Still, one question remains:

_What is this feeling and where is it coming from?_

I'm going crazy.

I pick up a shard of glass and let it stab into my palm. And I cry, hell, I cry. It's just luck nobody's home; I doubt I'd be able to hold it in this time.

Not only do I know that I've seen Madge Undersee somewhere else, I just feel like she's given up on me. I shouldn't have let her kiss me. I shouldn't have even gotten attached to her; I did that with Katniss and I should have learned. But I didn't because I'm _sofuckingstupid_ and I can't do anything right.

I've been assured, time and time again, by my whole family that I'm doing just fine. But I can't just not notice how Posy is still thinner than most of her friends, and it's not a natural thinness. I can't help but see the tiredness in their eyes, or how Rory's been out all the time looking for work. How Vick doesn't like to bring his friends, or girlfriends, hell if I know, back home. "It's too sad here," he said. "Everyone is always sulking."

How could I have not noticed this before?

_Because you're a failure,_ I tell myself over and over. _Quit fucking trying._

After I am finally able to quiet my sobs, I hear a faint knock on the door, and someone calling my name. I can't answer; I can't move; I can't breathe...

The knock grows more persistent, but I can't find the will to move. The blood has dried on my hand, and I try to open it to let go of the glass shard. I groan in pain as my fingers open, stuck to my palm with blood. I'm just picking the point of the glass out of my skin when I hear footsteps.

"Gale Hawthorne," a voice exclaims. "What were you - oh my-!"

I look up and laugh. I knew I was going crazy.

Before me is Katniss Everdeen, looking just like she did when she left me.

I continue to laugh as she gasps and kneels at my side, trying to figure out what happened. I can't help it; each breath of air bubbles out of my chest hysterically. Am I just dreaming?

She grabs my face, looking me dead in the eyes. "Gale," her voice is low, "stop."

My laughing breaks into quiet sobs and my breath starts to even out. She's cleaning out my cuts, and I wince every time one stings. "I know, I know," she murmurs. "Damn, Gale, what did you do?"

"Punched a window," I say dismissively. "Guess the rumors were true?"

She looks up at me, concerned, but doesn't address my first comment. "Yeah," she mumbles dryly, rolling her eyes. "Peeta's unpacking, and I just - I wanted to say hi, and I heard - I heard sobbing..."

"That was me," I say brightly, though she knows I'm being sarcastic.

"Haven't changed how you deal with things then, hm?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nevermind. Do you have any bandages?" she opens the cupboard under the sink and finds one, quickly wrapping it around my hand. She then makes work of sweeping up the bloody glass while trying to get me to talk about how I'm _feeling._

"What the hell, Catnip," I smirk, and she looks at me, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you spend time talking about feelings?"

"You forget who I'm married to," she deadpans.

"Right."

After the mess is cleaned up, she sits beside me like we're in the woods. Brushing hair out of my face, she says softly, "We don't have to talk about it."

I turn to her. "Don't you hate me?"

She looks at the floor, tapping her fingers on her knee. "Not anymore," she whispers. This is the Catnip I know. Always honest.

"Thanks."

I wait a second, and then ask, "So why did you come back?"

Katniss doesn't hesitate. "I'm ready to start over."

"Is it just a vacation home?"

A laugh bubbles out of her. "No, I just said that so no one would talk about how I'm 'rekindling my past' or some shit."

I laugh, too. "In the Capitol they make a story out of anything. Were there photographers chasing after you, too?" I flinch when I realize I added "too" at the end of my sentence. It reminds me that Katniss must want to talk to me about Madge.

But if she thought of that, she doesn't bring it up. "They were at the train station in 4, but most of them don't like Twelve. They think it's still basically in ruins."

I don't mean to let "That doesn't seem to stop them from photographing Madge," slip out, but it does.

Katniss studies me for a second and then says quietly, "Or you."

But then she clears her throat. "Madge is interesting. She doesn't depress people." I laugh out loud, but she ignores it. "I'm just a constant reminder of war, the Games. And she's happier than I am."

Is she really?

"I mean the face she puts on," Katniss murmurs, as if she read my mind. "I know it's not real. I always have."

I nod, but Katniss isn't looking at me. We sit in comfortable silence until she turns to me and says, "Peeta will be wondering where I am."

I make some sort of noise acknowledging her words, and she brings her fingertips to my cheek. "I don't like to see you like this."

"I'm sorry to disappoint," I say, my voice flat.

She kisses my cheek. "Come by sometime. Tell your mom I said hello."

When I think she's gone, I hear her voice again. "I'll come back, Gale."

The reassurance wills me enough to get up off of the floor and start thinking of ways to fix that fucking window.

* * *

_A/N: Just wanted to say, don't worry, there will be no romantic Everthorne in this story! All Katniss/Gale interaction is platonic. So what do you think? And Rish, do you like my Katniss? :) What do y'all think will happen next? (a lot more is coming soon. I figured with all the sad lonely chapters I put you guys through, I should give you some huge events. the climax of the story is coming :))_


	13. Tell Me The Truth

**Disclaimer: Eventful chapter! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Hazelle!" Katniss sounds happier than I've ever heard her as she leans into my mother's embrace. Mellark's behind her, talking to Posy. "Vick, you look just like Gale!" she smiles up at Rory. "And haven't you grown two feet? Posy, you're so beautiful. And adorable. Oh my goodness."

I smile as I watch the interaction, the feeling foreign on my face. My mother came home that day too busy chattering about Katniss and Mellark's return that she barely noticed the bandage on my hand until much later. "Noticed a crack in the window," I had told her. "Cut my palm trying to fix it."

"Katniss, Peeta, dear, come sit down!" Ma exclaims, and we all follow into the living room. "My, have we got a _lot_ to catch up on!"

* * *

My mother doesn't once bring up the war, the aftermath, and thank God, she doesn't about anything having to do with _Prim._ I see forgiveness in Katniss' eyes, but I know she's not exactly over it. Just because she doesn't hate me doesn't mean things will ever be like they used to.

Mellark is too nice; I just can't hate him. Or maybe that's _why_ I hate him. He looks at Katniss like I once did. He praises my family continually, trying to include me in conversation; I know if Katniss hadn't seen me the other day, she'd be shooting me dirty looks for being less than enthusiastic at Mellark's attempts. Still, it's one of the best nights I've had in a while.

In a brief moment of silence, Katniss says, "I forgot something at home for you, Hazelle. I'm going to go get it." When she cocks an eyebrow at me, I follow her out. No one pays any mind.

"So explain to me this," I say before she can attempt any conversation. "Why are you so...happy?"

"Well, excuse me," she laughs, "I've changed my perspective on things."

"You mean_ Mellark_ has changed your perspective on things."

She rolls her eyes. "Just call him Peeta, will you? I've tried to put my bitterness in the past."

"Are you even the same anymore?"

We stops walking and takes my hand in hers; it's a lot warmer than my own. "Gale, I am the same. Just happier. Is that wrong?"

"Of course not," I whisper. We keep walking.

"I'm still the same," she repeats again. "I still don't like talking. I still don't trust people. I still like the color green... I still...Gale, I still care about you."

"Did you after...?"

"I never stopped caring."

* * *

The dark feelings that have encompassed me have only lightened some. I wouldn't say I feel _better_, but something about having Katniss back makes things seem a little easier. One night when Mellark - _Peeta_ - goes to my house and bakes for Ma and the kids, Katniss and I are in her house, alone.

"I like it a lot better than the one I had in Victors' Village," she says as we sit together on the couch. I do, too. It's small, well-lit, homely. There's a box television in the corner. Pine-scented candles sit on the oak coffee table. The couch is overstuffed, a muted green. The walls are wood paneling. The curtains are patchwork. The kitchen has a small, round table, the cupboards are glossy with white knobs. There are a few photos, and my heart swells when I see one of Katniss and I.

I don't love Katniss. Not anymore. But I've forgotten what it's like to really have a friend.

We talk for a long time. Peeta calls to say that he'll be gone longer than planned. And as we grow more honest with each passing hour, Katniss asks, "So can you explain to me about Madge?"

I don't want to; I shoot her a look. But she doesn't back down.

I sigh. "She kissed me first."

"Okay. But how did you...how did you get to that point?"

I explain to her the whole story, from Posy taking me to that first show to our talk about the nightmares and the tears in my eyes. "Do you think it was wrong?" I ask.

"No," she responds carefully. "It's wrong that they take _pictures._" I remember that Katniss has had her fair share of privacy invasion at the hands of the Capitol.

When I mention the photo of her and Bristel and Thom, she smiles fondly.

"The Polaroid," she remarks. I look at her, confused. "It's an ancient kind of camera. Literally, hundreds of years. Her mother gave it to her."

I can't help but grin. "She had a whole wall of them," I recall. "I remember thinking she couldn't possibly have used it to take pictures with all those people before us."

"She didn't," Katniss tells me plainly. "She only used that one at certain times."

"When?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"When it was important," Katniss says. My heart skips a beat. "No one could take them from her and show them to the world if she kept them to herself."

I'm silent for a moment; this information tugs a heartstring. "But some were really old."

"Yeah," Katniss sighs, "well, she knew that she was going to be shipped off eventually. Someone was bound to find out about how her father treated her. Everything surfaces eventually."

I hate that wording, _shipped off,_ like she was an object. But I know that's how Mr. Undersee felt about her. "She never had bruises in those photos."

Katniss looks up at me sadly, half-smiling. "She knew how to cover them up." I remember what Madge's father said to me, _she's used to covering bruises of all different kinds, anyway._

"He stayed away from her face. Except...except the one time."

"How considerate," I spit out bitterly. The hatred I feel for Madge's father is rising; I tell Katniss about my short but eventful encounters with him. She nods knowingly. "He never wanted her to love anybody."

"What a bastard," I mutter. "Why the hell not?"

"She didn't like to talk about it," her grey eyes meet mine, soft and reminiscent. "I remember one night, Thom and Bristel and I walked her home, and I heard him shouting that she was going to end up a whore like her mother if she didn't stop going out all the time."

I sigh angrily, shaking my head. "Why did she...why did she..._hide_ from me?" I don't know how else to word it, but Katniss knows my voice says _don't lie to me._

"She loved you," she starts. "She was an angel. She never acted bitchy to me even when she knew that you liked me. She still talked to me all those times after you kissed me. She still cared."

I take a shaky breath. "To be honest, Catnip, if I'd have known about Undersee I might not have kissed you so many times."

Katniss laughs. "She always asked about you. But...with her father, she didn't pursue you. And she thought that you wouldn't like her. She thought you'd_ hate_ her. Because she was from town, and because you never went along when I traded with her."

"That's what Thom said."

"Yeah. And then...something happened and she stopped talking about you, and she begged us not to bring you up. She begged us not to say anything to you. She always had, but then we knew there was no chance of you two meeting after that happened."

"After what happened?"

Katniss looks at me again, her face now pale. "Gale, I..."

"Dammit, Katniss! Just say it!"

She clears her throat and shakily tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "She didn't want us to say anything. Ever."

"Katniss," my voice has become dangerously low and angry. Moments of silence pass and I start to think she's trying to come up with a suitable lie. I almost open my mouth to scream, to talk, I don't know what, but then she says,

"She brought you the morphling."

* * *

_A/N: Ooooh. Next chapter is dramatic, too, but for Madge this time. Do you think the story's moving too quickly? I think it's gone so slow Gadge-wise that I came up with some plot twists to change that. ;) Is Katniss believable? If the conversation seemed awkward between them, I think Katniss is a very awkward person. Strong, loving, smart, but not good with words. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I have 17 watches on this story as I'm typing this! I love you all (keep reviewing, or start reviewing!:D)_


	14. Puzzle Pieces

I've finally been able to put the last pieces of the puzzle that is Madge Undersee together.

It all comes back to me in flashes; her sweet voice, the concern it held; her soft touch against my wounds. Her hand running through my hair. The blast of cold air as she opened the door; the press of the needle into my skin. It was her that injected it. Her cool lips against my warm forehead. It takes a while longer, but I can now clearly recall her gold hair glinting in the firelight, her pink lips dry with worry; her long eyelashes across her round cheeks, looking down at the syringe as she poured morphling into it, day after day. I had dreams about her then, too. I just didn't have a name for the face.

Then the recent memories crash down on me.

_"Did she ever help you?"_

_"Once."_

When Thom and I talked after I'd gotten home, he tried lying about being friends with Madge. When I had said that _she told me,_ he began to say "Told you about the m..."

_Morphling._ How did I not notice?

That's why she knew to call Posy "Pose." She had seen her before. I shudder to think that Madge has most likely seen Posy cry. That's why she was so fucking _gentle,_ so _perfect_ with her. That's how she knew how to spell "Hawthorne." And that damn _book_. "As I lay dying I'll love you."

What is that supposed to mean?

Why the hell didn't she ever want to tell me? Why the hell did she keep it such a secret? Why the _hell _would she think I'd hate her for saving my damn life?

I know why.

Because I'm a stubborn asshole who can't accept anything from anyone. I'm too proud, I'm too arrogant. And as much as I try not to admit it, I would have made Undersee feel like the fucking devil for ever trying to have helped me.

I'm a monster.

"Gale?" there's a soft knock on my door. It's my mother.

"Come in."

She slowly opens the door, soundlessly closes it behind her, and crosses the room to sit next to me. "How are you doing?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" I rasp. "All this time -"

"She begged everybody not to," Ma says. "I knew it would make you angry eventually, but-"

"I'm not angry," I whisper. "I just want her."

Ma sighs and brushes my hair out of my face. "I know, dear." And then she's gone.

* * *

As much as I'd love to spend my life in bed like a sulky teenager, I have work. So I go. Every day is the same, and every day someone gives me a concerned glance, but I just don't respond. I feel like the only person in the world who has ever felt this way.

"So, are you going to think about it?" Thom asks at lunch.

"Think about what?" I ask as I pull my sandwich out of my bag. I have no idea what he's talking about.

He gives me a sad smile. "The relocation. To 2."

"What do you mean?"

Thom sighs. "They're looking for someone to move permanently to District 2 and work at the branch there."

I look up. "They're letting just anyone do it?" he nods. It would be nice to get away, I guess. Start anew. "Are you going to think about it?"

"Nah," Thom takes a bite of his sandwich. "Bristel doesn't want to. I have too many ties here anyway. I didn't spend five years rebuilding this place to leave it."

"I guess," I say absentmindedly. Then my mind starts to wander. District Two has a pretty nice forest...

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Thom asks. His face is concerned but there's a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Yeah," I muse, almost smiling. "Yeah, I might just be."

* * *

_Madge's POV_

_This_ is what I love.

I walk out onstage, giggling, trying not to trip on these heels Laticia's got me in. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and bite my lip. There is more love in the signs held up by these people than I have been given by my own father my entire life. I push him from my mind. "Look at me now," I whisper. "I'll show you."

A tear falls and the cheers grow louder. "Thank you," a strangled laugh comes out of my throat. "Thank you so much."

I sit at the piano and close my eyes. Forget everything. Forget everything and play. "So, District 11," I begin, which brings another wave of noise. "I hope you're enjoying the night."

I lose my outer shell and become one with the music; any thoughts of a certain someone whose lips are softer than any I've ever felt are absent from my mind. The music heightens, loud and trembling, and I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. This is what I live for; Not Caesar, not Priscilla, not the lights, not the dresses, and_ not_ Gale Hawthorne.

It feels like centuries pass until I hit the last key; I lean back and let my hair fall out of my face. A small smile plays at my lips as the flashing of cameras turns my vision red. If they can get any photos of me being happy, I'm all for it. I tell myself it's to show the world I'm fine, but I know there's something in it for me somewhere.

The applause doesn't stop. My smile growing, I reach over and grab my Polaroid off of the piano. "Smile!" I say into the microphone. I swear, everyone does.

I walk to the front of the stage, holding the camera out in front of me; it reminds me of the night I did this with Gale and Posy at my side. I ignore the prick of sadness in my chest and grin, snapping the photo. When it comes out, I laugh in pure joy. So many people smiling with me.

"This one's going on the wall!" I shout. Everyone cheers. "Goodnight, District Eleven!"

I lift my dress up to my knees and run backstage, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. The dam breaks; tears of pure joy are falling down my face.

"Madge, dear, are you okay?" Priscilla rushes into the room, her heels clicking on the hard floor. I nod, more tears falling. "I'm great," I say, my voice watery. "I'm just so happy."

Priscilla laughs and hugs me. "The limo will be here in a few minutes to take you home."

I pull away. "Oh, could I drive to the hotel tonight? By myself?" I ask. I don't want to be followed by anyone, I just want to be alone. She doesn't usually let me, though.

This seems to be no exception; she sighs. "Madge, you know I don't -"

"Please," I beg. The look I give her does her in. "Okay, Madge," she sighs again. "Be careful."

"Thank you!" I exclaim, running to my dressing room to change.

* * *

I skip out to my car humming a tune I'd played at the end of the show. It's cold; my hair is blown from my neck, and I shiver.

I get in the car and tuck the photo I'd taken in my sun visor. The drive home is a blur; the heat blasts as I hum to myself, feeling happy for the first time since I...kissed Gale.

Finally, I pull in to the hotel. I park my car and walk the slightly long distance to the front. Priscilla always worries, but nothing has happened. So far.

"Hey, Madge," a voice calls after me. I stop, turn around.

Instantly my heart beats faster and a cold feeling washes over my body. My mouth runs dry.

"Come on, Madge," his voice is cold. "It's me, your father." He doesn't smile. I quicken my pace.

"Stop it, you little bitch," he mutters, grabbing my arm. When I try to pull away, he only grips tighter. I hold back a cry of pain.

"So I told your little friend to keep his distance from you," he says through his teeth. _He talked to Gale?_

"Hawthorne, you know? The little fucker made me lose my job, did he tell you that?"

_What?_ He shoves me against the side of the brick building; when I try to kick him, he slams his forearm across my stomach. "Don't try anything," he whispers. "I'm your father. All you have to do is listen to me and you'll be just fine." _What a fucking lie!_ His tone makes me shiver; it's completely sinister, unforgiving.

"But evidently," he nearly cackles, "he didn't. So I don't have to either."

I don't do anything. _If you're quiet, he'll calm down,_ my mother's voice echoes in my ears.

"It was him!" he barks. "Gale Hawthorne's the one that fucked you!"

I gasp. "We-we didn't..."

His hand makes contact with my cheek, and the sting brings tears to my eyes and flashbacks into my mind.

"Say you didn't sleep with him," he quips, "you still got pretty damn close to him. Don't you remember what I told you about boys? You'll end up a whore like your mother if you ever get on to one."

I try to hit him, kick him, anything, but he's got me pinned. Tears fall; definitely not ones of joy.

"Who am I kidding," he laughs. "You already are a whore."

I scream, and he slams me again, hard, against the brick wall; I fall to the ground. "Shut up!" he mutters as he begins to kick me, over and over. Someone yells something as I choke out a sob, and then he's gone.

I roll over to my side, and I know there's blood coming from somewhere; my ribs are pulsing with pain, and my stomach is numb.

Then it all fades to black.

* * *

_A/N: I hope y'all don't feel this is too much happening at once! But it all ties into the big event that is to come. :) Thoughts?_


	15. I Remember

**Disclaimer: First I wanted to say to Rish - you said you wanted to know who Madge's hero was in last chapter. Honestly, I hadn't thought of that - it was just a random good Samaritan that saw Madge's predicament and scared her father away. I didn't mean for it to be a subplot or anything. Sorry to disappoint :( Secondly, this chapter is probably the longest, and it goes very in depth into Madge's past. I took a very long time to write the second part, with the super long paragraphs, so like I said in chapter 7, if you don't normally review I'd really appreciate if you let me know how this one made you feel. It means a lot to me, and though fortunately I don't share Madge's home life, it took a lot of me to write. I hope you like it.**

* * *

_Madge's POV_

I wake up in a panic. There's blinding light everywhere and there's something on my face and I can't get it off because my arms hurt and I'm trying to _breathe_ but I can't because the pain shakes through my entire body so I just _scream_. A nurse rushes in, asking over and over if I'm alright.

_A nurse?_

"Oh, oh, she doesn't know what happened," Priscilla chatters, rushing to my side. "Madge, honey, we found you outside the hotel last night and you were...badly injured."

Now I remember. "My father," I try to say, but my throat's too dry and my voice cracks. Someone shouts for water and soon enough the cool liquid is sliding down my throat. I try again to speak, and it works this time.

"Yes," Priscilla's voice is distressed, "we thought it may be him. See, this is why I didn't want you to -"

"Priss," Laticia's gentle voice rings in my ears. Priscilla stops whatever she was going to say.

"Is it in the news?" I ask, dreading the response, which is "Yes."

I try to sigh, but that hurts. "What's wrong with me?"

I mean the question in a million different ways, but Priscilla tells me one. "You're just very badly bruised," she says. "They're pretty sure you didn't crack anything, though. Your nose was bleeding profusely," oh, so it's a bandage on my face, "and your shoulder got twisted. You won't need any casts, but you must take it easy."

"But I...I had a show tonight..." my heart sinks.

"You must stay here for a few more days," Laticia tells me softly. "Until you can walk again. You are in no shape to now."

I let out a sound of frustration and try to sit up; though the pain is excruciating, I succeed. "Are we..are we in Eleven?"

"For now," Priscilla says. She looks like she wants to continue, but doesn't. "I filed a police report."

I find the energy to roll my eyes. "Like that'll stop him."

"What he did is not okay, Madge!" Priscilla almost shouts. "You should never have to endure that from your own father, much less!"

Little does she know, I have. _Oh, I have._

* * *

My dreams are filled with the screams of my mother. I feel her pain, physically more than anything. I remember her crying on the bathroom floor, as my father walked out with some sort of alcohol in his hands. I remember when I'd ask him to stop, and he'd hit me, too. I remember the makeup my mother put over my bruises, before I left for school, but after my father went to work. There was never a school day where she would not do this; there was never a school day when she didn't have to. I eventually got old enough to put it on myself, and I tried to ignore the fact that I needed quite a bit more as the years went on.

I remember the time my shorts were too short and all my friends could see the bruises on my thighs, and when we went to the beach one summer and the waves washed the concealer off my face. I remember the aching in my bones as I begged them on the way home not to tell anyone; the fire in Katniss' eyes, the worry twisted onto Bristel's face, Thom's jaw clenched as he kept his piercing eyes on the road.

I remember coming home that night when my shorts were too short and I remember my father calling me a bitch and a slut and a whore and telling me to dress like I wasn't some slag heap garbage. I remember him telling me not to love, because love never made anything change in the world. I remember how he'd give my mother a look that could kill if she directed any soft words to me or asked him to stop. And I remember the distressed cries and the sounds of objects hitting the walls that would come from downstairs after I'd gone to bed.

I remember when I first saw Gale Hawthorne, at fourteen years old. He was sixteen. I was home for a few weeks to tend to my mother, who my father had been neglecting. It was a passing glance as Katniss and I stopped by her house so that her mother could tell me how to treat the burns and cuts I'd recieved, either from my father directly or while trying to protect my mother. He didn't see me. He was in his backyard, and I swear to this day he had been crying. I remember asking Katniss about him, and she said he did the same things as her, so I asked why I'd never seen him. She hesitated a long while before saying, "He doesn't like town." Then I remember telling my mother about the visit when I got home, and she told me Gale had problems of his own. The pains that Gale and his family endured were more of the starving, tired, distressed kind, and not the burning, bruising, bleeding kind, my mother had said. Then I started crying because everything was sore and she told me she used morphling for the pain.

I remember the night I saw Gale Hawthorne being dragged to the square after years of avoiding him so he'd never know I'd thought about what my mother had said, that he'd never know I'd wondered what he was crying about. I remember what little I saw of his back being cut to shreds, and I remember the flashbacks that ensued, of my own skin being torn in similar ways. Not with a whip, but with a knife, with a razor, with scissors, with anything my father had in hand, always a whiskey bottle in the other. I remember the days I spent "sick," drowned in morphling, and I remembered how it kept me alive. I remember my trembling hands as I searched the entire house for the vials that my mother kept hidden so that my father wouldn't find them, all while trying not to wake him up. I remember the smile breaking out on my face as I found them, the only thing I could do that didn't hurt because he was smart enough not to hit me there. I remember the urgency in my voice as I asked my mother if I could take them.

I remember the biting cold as I walked all the way to the Seam with a heavy, wet box in my hands. I remember the raw terror coursing through my entire being as I watched for peacekeepers. I remember the feeling of my nostrils freezing and my throat going raw and my toes becoming numb and my breath being sucked out of my lungs. I remember the look on Katniss' face as she answered the door, and the quizzical look in her eyes that stated _I thought it hurt too much to walk_. I remember Peeta glancing at me, and in that moment I knew Katniss had told him everything. I remember her begging with my own eyes not to tell anyone how I felt for Gale, and I remember the simple words I choked out: "Use these for your friend. My mother said I could take them."

I remember the curve of his back highlighted by the firelight, and I remember, returning each day when my father wasn't at home to inject the drug into his blood. I remember this being the only light of my life, seeing him return to Earth. I remember the few times his eyes opened, only to close instantly. I remember the feeling of his warm, raw skin. I remember him laying at that table for days, never waking, only groaning as the serenity left his body. I remember this reminding me to give him another dose. I remember when I had to tell Katniss that my father had sprained my ankle this time and I really couldn't take care of Gale. I remember how I spent days feeling guilty.

I remember when Katniss told me she'd kissed him, and she was sorry, and I told her it was fine. I remember crying that night, and I remember being told to stop being like my mother and grow up, and I tried not to let my father's words hurt because he was drunk. Then I realized he'd say the exact same thing sober.

I remember when my mother took her last breath, and she was buried with bruises underneath the concealer on her skin. I remember my father drinking so much that night he'd passed out and lost a pulse; I had hoped and prayed for him to be gone too. I remember taking the rest of my mother's morphling and bringing it to the Hawthorne's; I remember holding back sobs as Hazelle held me in her arms. I remember begging her, _begging_ her to never, ever tell Gale that my father hurt me or that I gave him the morphling or anything of the sort. I remember the look in her eyes so badly wanting to protest, but promising me she'd never breathe a word and lie to the bitter end for me instead. I remember Posy's cries, and I remember the dead look in Vick's eyes, and Rory trying so damn _hard_ to keep them both together. I remember telling Hazelle where my mother used to hide the vials. I remember walking home with tears of every kind of pain in my eyes.

I remember spending the rest of my time in 12 terrified that Hazelle would tell Gale about me. I remember her assuring me she wouldn't, but telling me Gale most definitely wouldn't hate me. I told her about all the times I'd heard "Gale isn't going to come, Madge. He doesn't like trading here." Hazelle tried explaining to me that that didn't mean he didn't like me, but how was he supposed to know if he did or not if he never even saw me?

I remember the night my father left a bruise on my cheek for the first time, so many different colors that it couldn't be hidden; of course this was the night I'd decided to sneak into the meadow and let the cool grass soothe my hot, aching skin. I remember a Peacekeeper approaching me, asking me who I was. I remember being terrified that I'd suffer the same fate as Gale. I remember the flash of realization in the man's eyes when he saw my face; I remember being secretly taken to the Capitol by train early in the morning before my father could find out.

And most of all I remember that night not so long ago when I saw Gale and Posy Hawthorne, sitting front row as I played my heart out. I remember Posy's eager gaze and Gale's tranquil look of awe. I remember catching his eye a few times, and Posy nudging his ribs each time. I remember when Posy told me her name, and I remember almost dropping the marker onto the floor as it rung in my ears. I remember the trembling of my hand I was trying to hide as I gave Gale the book, the book I'd written in to drown out my father's yelling and my mother's cries and my own heartache. I remember hot tears soaking through the pages the night Katniss had said she kissed him. I remember the horrible handwriting I'd used because my fingers were swollen or my wrist was sprained or something to that extent. I remember the things I wrote pleading for him to give me a chance, but cursing myself because I had started to avoid him for_ him_, as he avoided me for where I lived. I hated myself for it, added it to the list of reasons why I didn't deserve anyone's love. I remember the night I wanted to end it all, and I wrote him the poem,

_As I lay dying I'll hear you_  
_As I am dead I'll see you_  
_And as I burn I'll feel you_  
_But through it all I'll love you._

But this, oh, _this_ is a fate much worse than death.


	16. Revisiting the Root of All Your Problems

**Disclaimer: Short chapter, slightly eventful. I figured the monster of a chapter I gave you last time would tide you over. **

* * *

After two boredom-filled days in the hospital, I finally give in to the stack of magazines at my bedside table. Priscilla was nice enough to get rid of any and all that had my face on them, but she didn't screen what was _inside_ of them. I cringe every time I see myself, and I shudder heavily when I see Gale; I'm just about to throw all of the magazines out when something catches my eye.

The dark, worried faces of Katniss and Peeta are on the pages before me. They both have their heads ducked; Katniss' arms are crossed but Peeta's are wrapped around her shoulders as they walk toward a train.

Not many people took interest in the Victors after the war; they were just reminders of the pain and rebellion. So this is a surprise. But then I read the caption.

_"Victors Returning Home."_

"The nation's most beloved couple have decided to leave their home in District 4," I murmur frantically, my eyes scanning the page. " 'We're just looking for a vacation home,' Katniss Everdeen stated."

I don't buy the "vacation home" quip, but I know the things you have to say to appease the Capitol. It's far too complicated to just state that Katniss and Peeta wanted to return home. I caress the photo lightly, aching for my old life.

I think of Peeta; we were never very close, but he'd always cared for me, and I him. At my mother's funeral, he held me the longest, and he knew how it felt to be bruised and cut and hurt; we barely knew the first thing about eachother, but I wish I could see him again.

And Katniss. I'll never forget how, no matter how angry it made her, she kept every single one of my secrets. She understood not wanting pity. Katniss didn't love many people, but the ones she did, she protected with everything she had.

"Madge?" Priscilla peeks through the doorway. "Oh, good, you're up." Her voice is unusually calm. There are moments when I see Priscilla for her real self, the personality she must have had before she became one of _them_. The worry etched into her features, the darkness of her eyes, the furrow in her brow, they all show through her tinted skin.

She takes a seat in a plastic chair beside me, instantly reaching for my hand. "Madge, we have decided it's not good for you to stay here," she begins.

"Of course not," I agree. "We're in Eleven."

"No," she continues, "I mean, you should not return to the Capitol until you are...healed. Physically," she sucks in a sharp breath and I raise my eyebrow. "And emotionally. However long this period of time is, it is up to you."

My eyes widen. "Well, where would I go?"

"That's the problem," Priscilla sighs. It dawns on me just how much her life revolves around mine. "We were thinking perhaps we'd let you choose, provided that you were safe and the area was quiet enough."

Instantly, the words fall out of my mouth:

"District Twelve."

* * *

The next morning, I try to get out of bed; it hurts like hell to move, but my legs are mostly fine. It's my ribs. I take shallow, short breaths; I can barely breathe through my nose. It's not broken, but very, very sore, and very, very bruised.

"Madge!" Priscilla and Laticia chatter as they bust through the door. Unfortunately, they've been my only company. "Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Still hurts," I grunt as I try to straighten my back. "A _lot._"

"We're one step ahead of what we were yesterday," Priscilla chatters, and Laticia nods in agreement.

It begins to hurt too much, so I return to my dismal hospital bed. The nurse leaves, and Priscilla turns to me gravely. "Madge," she sighs, and I know this won't be good. "I thought about your wish to go to District Twelve, and dear, I just don't think it would be best -"

Oh, no. Not this. "Why the hell not?"

"Madge." Priscilla's voice is tired. She hates when I use words she says are "undignified." "After all that has happened, District Twelve is just a negative place. It's essentially the root of all of your problems."

I stop when I hear this. She's right.

But then I remember something; grabbing the magazine I had yesterday, I flip to the photo of Katniss and Peeta. "I don't have to stay with _him,"_ I mutter, and both the women in front of me know full well who I'm speaking of. I thrust the magazine into Priscilla's hands. "I was good friends with Katniss," I explain hastily. "She just returned home. I'm sure she'd like some company." I wonder if she's spoken to Gale.

"Ohhh," Priscilla sighs, and Laticia looks at her in a way that I know says _give it up._ "Alright, Madge. If you truly believe it will benefit you."

I try to lean over and hug her, but the pain holds me back. "I do," I choke out instead. "Thank you both."

* * *

Later, I mull over our conversation. They thought I wanted to stay with _Gale_? My face grows warm and I know there's a blush spreading across my cheeks.

But I can't help but wonder, what would that be like? What would Gale think? What would we _do?_

I laugh at myself, shaking my head. I've certainly ruined all my chances of doing_ anything_ with Gale Hawthorne.

* * *

_A/N: Madge returning to 12. What do you think? Reviews are appreciated. And I hope you liked the last chapter, it is probably my favorite in the story. :)_


	17. Bruises

**Disclaimer: Okay so...I'm super embarrassed, but it turns out I uploaded chapter 18 as chapter 17 instead ;-; so here's my actual chapter 17 and I'll put 18 back up for you guys. This one doesn't change much of 18 but I still wanted it up. And the Katniss POV thing is probably only a one-time thing. Review this please? D: thanks so much! And sorry, I feel so stupid xD**

* * *

_Katniss' POV_

"Peeta, can you get that? I grumble as the sound of the phone ringing cancels out all other noise. "Peeta?!"

I roll my eyes and sigh when there's no response; he's upstairs, probably expecting me to get it. I push my blanket aside and pause the TV, running into the kitchen before I can miss it.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Mellark?"

I don't recognize the voice on the line, so the confusion in my voice is obvious, "Yes, that's me."

Then a woman in a trilling, clipped accent (someone from the Capitol?) identifies herself as the manager of Madeline Undersee andsays something about unfortunate events and injuries and save haven.

I politely ask her to repeat what she just said; she sighs, trying not to sound annoyed, and very plainly explains to me that "your friend Miss Undersee was in a predicament a few days ago and sustained some sizeable injuries. I'm sure you're aware of Madge's public status, and she is not comfortable being thrust into the spotlight again to be speculated upon."

She doesn't mention again what happened to Madge, she probably explained that the first time around, but I think I know.

"So she requested to stay with you and your husband for the time being, as I said she needed to go somewhere more reserved."

"Yes, yes, of course," I murmur, now concerned. We make arrangements for Madge to be very discreetly transported to Twelve this weekend and I am asked to please make sure that the news does not spread. I hang up the phone with a sigh, all the worry that consumed me when Madge and I were younger burning inside me now.

"Sorry, babe, I was listening to music," Peeta says, walking up behind me. "Hey, what's wrong?"

I look up at him as he wraps his arms around my waist. "Peeta," I raise my eyebrows, "do you remember Madge Undersee?"

* * *

_Madge's POV_

The next morning is hell. The train ride is early; someone from my security team brought all my things, with Priscilla's direction, to the train station in two trunks. Of course it was only really clothes, some pillows, my bulletin board with my Polaroids (the one I took the other night in my pocket), really anything small enough to fit. I want to stay up and be excited about seeing my friends again, but I fall asleep almost instantly, the easy hum of the engine soothing me to sleep.

I dream, instead of having nightmares, for the first time in days. I dream of the meadow and my mother brushing my hair, telling me I'd grow up to be beautiful one day. I dream of Katniss' smile and Bristel's laugh and Thom's jokes. Of the first time I played for a crowd and thought that this was all that there was to my newfound life. I dream of things that will never be, or never be again, but when I wake, the happiness that washes over me is undescribable.

Until I try to sit up and forget why, exactly, I'm on this train. I cry out in pain, but no one answers; they must be in the other room. Slowly, taking shallow breaths, I walk into the bathroom, where there's a full-length mirror; I squeeze my eyes shut as I lift up my shirt, not wanting to survey the damage.

I quickly open them, and my heart skips a beat.

From the bottom of my ribcage are purple, yellow, green, blue, black, brown bruises; they climb across my ribs, wrap around my sides (as I turn around I can see they are just barely on my back) and spread higher; there's probably some of the marks on my breasts, too. I lower my shirt down quickly and hold out my arms; bruises there too, and my shoulder is swollen, tight and red. My nose is slightly bruised, too, but it's more red than anything. It's begun to hurt less, but _fuck, _the_ bruises..._

Defeated, I walk slowly and painfully into the bedroom and lay down. I tell myself this is the last time I'll suffer at the hands of my father. I said the same thing when I left for the Capitol at 17, but this time, I'm sure of it. Almost.

* * *

"Madge, dear," Priscilla's voice chirps over my hazy half-sleep. The sun is up and blazing, and I squint, annoyed. "Mmm."

"Madge, we're almost to District Twelve," she says, as if she wants to add, unfortunately. "I know you're in pain, dear, but you must brush your hair and put on something presentable."

So I do, anticipation building from my stomach to my chest as I get more and more excited to see Katniss and Peeta, and more and more nervous to run into Gale.

Am I actually nervous? Or just hoping?

I shake my head, ridding the thought from my mind. Before I know it I'm stepping, holding back gasps and groans and tears, walking as best I can as not to draw too much attention to myself. I can't handle that right now.

District Twelve is not how I remember it.

It's brighter, cleaner, sweeter. The air smells not of kindling and fire but of grass and fresh air; hints of fire do tickle at my senses, but not so strongly as they used to. I kick around the gravel, not able to hold back the grin on my face. It only falters a little when no one is outside the modest two-story cabin in front of me, but Priscilla hastily explains that it would draw too much attention to our ordeal.

Then she tells me that she and Laticia are going to lead me in and get back on the train when it comes back in a half hour. "We're going to get something to eat and return home ourselves," she says softly. "We don't want to impose."

I want to be polite and say it would be no trouble, but also want to see Katniss and Peeta alone.

I shut the door quietly, but it must have been loud enough for Katniss to call, "Madge, is that you?" Another grin spreads across my face as she walks in the room; her face lights up, too. She quickens her pace, crossing the room to me, arms wide; I'm about to remind her about my injuries, but her embrace is gentle.

"Peeta!" she calls, a smile on her face. "Peeta, she's here!"

I hear frantic rushing down the stairs and soon after, Peeta rounds the corner into the room, his grin the biggest of them all. "Madge!" he exclaims, also taking care to hug me gently. "Just as beautiful as I remember."

Katniss rolls her eyes, but is grinning, and I'm sure my face is deep red. "Why don't you start dinner," Katniss looks at Peeta, eyebrows raised, "and I'll get Madge situated."

He nods. "It's so nice to see you again, Madge," he smiles.

"You too," I tell him cheerfully, following Katniss up the stairs. "Wait up," I laugh. "It kind of hurts."

* * *

Katniss sets my trunks down at the edge of a made bed. "I wasn't sure if you brought any blankets with you," she says nervously. "So I just kind of -"

"No," I smile warmly, "I didn't. Thank you so much, Katniss. To you and Peeta."

She returns my smile, but she looks a bit sad. I brush it off as I look around the room.

The walls are a caramel-colored wood paneling; a painting I assume to be done by Peeta of a raindrop falling off of a primrose hangs in the corner. The curtains are light and lacy, the bedspread a bright orange.

Katniss unbuckles my trunks, but then blushes and looks up at me. "Sorry," she sputters quickly. "Do you...do you want help?"

I chuckle. "I've got nothing to hide, Katniss. I-I'd do it myself, but...

"Oh, I know, it's no problem," she blushes harder but resumes opening them, carefully taking out my things.

"Look at the bottom of that one," I tell her, gesturing to the one she's opening. Curiously, she paws down to the bottom of the case, and pulls out my bulletin board, photos with thumbtacks still intact.

"Oh my goodness, Madge," she gasps. I walk up behind her and point out the one I'd shown Gale, of her and Thom and Bristel and I. Oh," she says softly. "I..."

"That one's my favorite."

She grins sadly, and the way she looks up at me causes my stomach to twist.

* * *

_A/N: So here's the real #17. Review this please? Ah, I feel so stupid. xo_


	18. Self-Destruction

**Disclaimer: So sorry to all of you who were thinking this was an actual update ;-; go read chapter 17 over, I accidentally uploaded the wrong doc, the disclaimer on #17 will explain everything. So go read and review that! I'm so sorry!**

* * *

_Gale's POV_

Today is Sunday. The house is empty. And I am _upset._

Instead of hitting something (my hand is still healing, I can't bend three of my fingers), I just lay in bed and think.

I've kind of blocked the memory of the actual whipping out of my head, but the pain that came afterwards is still vivid. It felt like my blood had been injected with razors, cutting through my nerves, giving me the most agonizing pain. I had dreams, nightmares, almost always in a drugged halfway-sleep.

I barely remember the days Madge came by, but there are certain things that stick out, like what first flooded into my mind after Katniss had told me. I remember her holding my hand and singing to me; I knew it wasn't Katniss because her hands were so soft and her voice so gentle. I remember seeing the golden threads of her hair in the firelight, an image that burst into full-on flames in my dreams.

I don't remember much else in detail, but it all makes sense now. Posy's nickname, the long glances. The instant emotions I drew out of her when we had just barely met. Why she was so eager to tell me she liked me, before she could ever explain why. The reason she said the person she loves has scars, blood on his hands, is always scowling. Hell, Madge Undersee _did_ take the time to memorize me.

And dammit, it makes me so _angry._

* * *

_Madge's POV_

Today, Sunday, is my second day with Katniss and Peeta. I've discovered that if you look out my window, far in the distance is the Hawthorne household. When I notice for the first time, it bothers me for some reason I can't identify, and Katniss notices.

"What's wrong?" she asks as I walk painfully into the kitchen to sit and watch her make dinner. I decide not to hide my annoyance.

"You can see Gale's house from my window."

Her face twists into a sour expression as she continues stirring whatever she has on the stove. "I know," she says shortly. "What of it?"

"Just an observation." We sit there for a while before Peeta opens the door. He says hello to both of us, kisses Katniss on the cheek and sits down next to me.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, squeezing my hand.

I smile. "Still hurts."

Before he can say anything, Katniss turns to me and says, "My mother called me this morning and told me how to reduce the swelling."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, that's nice of her."

"Yeah," Katniss nearly snaps. "Peeta, can you take care of this? We should go do that now." Peeta looks puzzled, but he gets up and takes the wooden spoon from Katniss' hand without a question. She leads me into her bathroom.

"Is something wrong?" I ask as she takes some sort of paste and a bandage roll out of a cupboard.

"Bad day, is all," she murmurs. "This is a salve to reduce the swelling. Take your shirt off." I do, holding back a groan, because the bruises have spread to my shoulder blades. "Your bra, too," Katniss fidgets uncomfortably.

"Um," I stutter after trying to unhook it and wincing. "Can you...?"

Katniss sighs tiredly and unhooks it after some trouble. Then she spreads the pasty salve over every place that has any swelling or bruising and tightly wraps a bandage around it all. At one point the frail fabric rips, and when she yells loudly a string of curses, I know something's up.

As soon as she's repaired it and I'm pulling my shirt over my head again, I ask her, "Katniss. What's wrong?"

"I told Gale," she says sharply, "about the morphling."

Then she angrily storms out of the room, leaving me dumbstruck.

* * *

Gale's POV

Today was uneventful. I mulled over thoughts of Madge. I want to see Katniss again, but I haven't had the time or the will. I tried to distract myself, but all in all, I ended up laying on the couch trying not to cry and picking at my nails.

"So," I clear my throat at dinner and everyone looks at me, "I wanted to ask you guys about something." I'm not sure I should do this. I haven't talked to my mother about it yet, so I don't know what she thinks or how they'll react.

"What is it, Gale?" Posy's eyes light up. I forget how to speak for a moment; she isn't going to like it.

"Well?" Vick looks up at me, eyebrows raised. He hasn't been the happiest with me. My behavior is too "self-destructive" and he says that it's my own fault Madge won't speak to me.

But she said she'd come back, didn't she?

"I, uh," I say after some hesitation, "there's another promotion at work."

Ma looks at me, her face pained, so I quickly add, "Not to the Capitol. To District 2."

Vick rolls his eyes. "Would it help you in any respect?" he asks. The kid is too smart for his own good.

"Well, job-wise," my voice grows an edge, "I would get paid almost twice what I do now. And yeah, Vick, maybe I'd be less 'self-destructive.'"

He's quiet, but my answer doesn't satisfy him. My mother tries to smile. "I think it would be good for you, Gale."

Rory asks, "How long does it last?" the same time Posy asks, "Is it forever?"

Here comes the bad part. "That's the issue," I squirm uncomfortably, picking at my food. "It's, uh, it's kind of a permanent thing."

"No, Gale!" Posy shrieks, and my mother tells her gently to calm down. But Posy continues, "You can't just leave! You...you...how are you supposed to spend time with us? Or Madge?"

"Posy," Vick warns.

"But I'm serious," her lower lip trembles. "I don't want you to leave, Gale."

Rory smiles sadly. "I think Pose is right," he says, and she is beaming. "We're happy, Gale. We'd rather have you here than any amount of money."

"Yeah, we'd rather starve with you than eat without you," Vick quips.

"Victor Hawthorne!" Ma exclaims, and I hide my smirk. "Go to your room!"

Vick gives me a death glare and leaves without pushing his chair in, slamming the bedroom door behind him. Ma turns back to me. "It's your decision, dear," she says gently, "but I would miss having you around." Posy and Rory nod in agreement.

I sigh, partly in relief. "I didn't really want to, anyway," I only half-lie. "It was just an idea. I'll stay for you guys."

"You should stay for yourself, too," Rory says. "Don't let us hold you back." I look up at him, surprised, but I grin. "Thanks, Rory."

He smiles back, and somehow I know everything will fall into place. Not easily, not painlessly, but it will.

* * *

"Vick?" I tap lightly on the door, opening it somewhat. "You okay?"

Vick grunts some sort of response, so I swing the door open and close it behind me softly. He's sprawled out on his side, his face buried in a pillow. I sit at the edge of the bed and run my hands through my hair, feeling defeated. I take a deep breath. "You wanna explain what happened out there?"

"I'd rather not," he says curtly. "I'd appreciate if you could leave." I almost laugh. Vick is so well-spoken, he's always got some eloquent way of saying something.

"I'd appreciate if you could tell me why you're so mad at me," I say, eyebrows raised. I poke his shoulder. He sits up and looks me in the eyes; it startles me how much I see myself in them. "I'm just disappointed," he says, and he props his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand. "I feel like I'm trapped in District Twelve."

My face softens, and I frown sympathetically. I know the feeling, like you can't go anywhere, do anything, or change anything. But there's one thing I don't quite understand. "So why do you take it out on me?"

He sighs. "It's silly, I guess," he looks at me tentatively, "but you get the chance to go to the damn _Capitol_ and then you do stupid things like get photographed making out with a world-famous musician."

"She kissed me!" I say for the hundredth time since that happened. "And jeez, Vick, I can take you with me sometime if you want."

His eyes light up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

But then they fade again. "It's also that you're so upset. It reminds me of after the...after the war."

I fidget. "I know," my voice is quiet, "you just wouldn't understand, you don't know what it's like to have everyone know your name like that. First they associate it with war, and rebellion, and killing. And then they associate it with scandals and kissing and _Madge_ -"

"Gale," Vick says gently. I look at him. "I'm really sorry I acted like that, I, I just..."

I ruffle his hair. "It's okay, Vick. Just don't let anger control you."

"I'll try not to," he smiles, "and I won't punch any windows either."

My eyebrows momentarily go up in shock. How did he know that? But he laughs again. "Don't think I believe the 'cut my hand while fixing the window that I didn't know was broken' thing."

I laugh with him. "So, you interested in any girls?"

"Gale!" he exclaims, his face turning red. "You can leave now! Issues resolved!"

I laugh, a true laugh, as he shoves me out his door.


	19. As Dead I Well May Be

"Madge?" Peeta's voice is gentle through the crack in my door.

"Come in," I sigh. _It's not him you're mad at,_ I remind myself.

He opens the door fully and smiles sadly when he sees me. My hair is in a messy side braid, I'm wearing a t-shirt that goes down to my knees, and I don't think I've ever felt so tired, so I probably look the same way. Not to mention that half of my face is red, the blotches spreading from my puffy nose to my cheek.

"Hey," he says softly. I smile. I may not have known Peeta too well, but he has an effect on me.

"Hi," I sigh.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Well," I sigh again, "the salve is helping a little, but it's still pretty rough." His face grows sympathetic. "I know how you feel," he says quietly, taking a seat on the foot of the bed.

I wince at his words, remembering how his mother used to treat him. It was the one thing that made us more than acquaintances; we never talked much in school, but he was the only person besides my mother to understand what it was like to hide the bruises, how they felt, how they looked, how they made us look at ourselves. I reach out and squeeze his hand. He looks up at me and gives me a small smile before clearing his throat.

"Katniss didn't mean to make you angry, Madge," he says carefully, and I hold back an eyeroll. Katniss and I haven't spoken since last night. "Why did she tell him?"

"I don't know very much," he sighs, running his fingers through his gold hair. "But Gale has been kept in the dark for quite some time."

"Does he know I'm here?" my eyes widen.

"No," Peeta looks up at me, "and I'll make sure Katniss says nothing. I promise."

I smile slightly. "I just wish I could have told him," I sigh. He looks up at me, four blue eyes searching for a solution; I feel a tear fall down my cheek. "I mess everything up," I choke out. "I was so selfish, Peeta, I -"

"Hey," he slowly wraps me in his arms, capturing my tears with his thumbs. "Madge," he breathes, "you're only human. You will mess up sometimes. If Gale," his breath hitches, "if Gale really loves you, he'll accept you, mistakes and all." With this, he kisses me on the cheek and leaves quietly.

I lay back down, crying because of my failures, my selfishness, and my damn ribs.

* * *

_Gale's POV_

"Hey, Gale," Thom smiles lopsidedly. "Bristel and I were just about to eat. Join us."

I find myself at Thom's door again, deciding to talk to him instead of leaving myself to my own devices. Bristel and Thom got married last year, and they've been the picture of a perfectly imperfect couple if I've ever seen one. They're not sickeningly sweet where they find no flaw in one another and never fight and are always sucking face. But truthfully, they are in love with eachother and would suffer and die for each other. Their home is simple and warm, and what you see with them is what you get.

"Thanks," I smile, walking in to see Bristel boiling something on the stove. She's beautiful, I'll admit it; a classic Seam woman with something different about her. Her jaw is sharp, her nose long and narrow, her eyes a steely, shining grey, not a dull and matte. Her skin is the perfect shade of olive, her hair long, smooth, shining, and the darkest black I've ever seen. She's tall and thin with slight curves in all the right places, the only girl I've met that I didn't have to literally look down at to look in the eyes. Bristel and I never had a thing (much unlike Thom and Madge). It was more of a sibling relationship, but I'll be the first to tell you after Thom how beautiful she really is, inside and out.

Bristel hugs me warmly, and we make small talk for a while before I sit at the kitchen table. The TV is playing dully in the background; Thom quickly shuts it off when the commercials fade into the program, which is some bullshit gossip show. I silently thank him and he smiles, Bristel sits down with us, her face glowing, and I lean back into my chair.

_This_ feels like home.

* * *

"So," Thom's words are slurred. "You heard from Undersee lately?" We've been drinking the past few hours; Bristel has long since gone to bed.

I scowl. "Hell no."

"Why the fuck not?" he asks, coughing. He looks at me expectantly, but I'm too buzzed to think of a snippy remark. So I tell the truth.

"We just haven't talked, Thom," I shiver at the thought of her lips on mine. "I don't know what the fuck she's up to these days."

"She was in 11, last I heard," he mumbles. "Don't know where she is now."

"She was supposed to come here after that," I tell him. "I remember her saying she would. Wonder what stopped her."

"You," he chuckles, and the honesty doesn't sting; I accept it.

"But she told me she'd come back," I sigh, taking another drink of whiskey. "I don't know, Thom. Fuck this. I don't need her."

"You sure, Hawthorne?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

"I haven't been so sure," I begin pointedly, "since I decided I wanted to destroy the Capitol and everything in it. Hope for her sake she's not there anymore, that she's somewhere else. 'Cause, Thom, it ain't any better than it used to be. They're not bloodthirsty for kids anymore, but they've come up with other ways to destroy everything you love."

* * *

_Madge's POV_

The sun peeks through the sheer curtains as my eyes crack open. I groan as I stretch and my muscles pop; it's gotten only a little easier to move my shoulders. It takes a minute for me to register that Katniss is sitting outside my door, staring at her fingernails, but when I do, I yell to her tiredly, "I don't want to talk to you."

She doesn't turn around, but I hear the smirk in her voice. "You just did," she says.

I roll my eyes as she carefully walks into my room. "You can't kick me out forever, Madge," she grins. "It's my house, _and_ I need to replace your bandages."

I make a noise of protest as I slide my shirt off, and Katniss unravels the bandages. She sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. "Madge," she begins, and I raise my eyebrows worriedly. "These should be doing much better by now. Look at them." I look down; they're all shades of the rainbow. The skin that isn't bruised is red and my skin is entirely too puffy; my face is slightly discolored as well, though it doesn't hurt as much.

"What the _fuck,_" she breathes, "did he do to you?"

The other night I had no choice but to explain why exactly I'd ended up at the Mellarks' doorstep. It's not that I wanted to keep secrets, they deserved to know, but I didn't want to talk about it. So I gave them the basic story, with no details, and Peeta's knuckles had turned white and his jaw was clenched hard as I was talking. Katniss became visibly angry and cursed under her breath the rest of the night.

"I...he kicked me a lot," I choke out. "I...I didn't think it was that bad."

"Bastard," she mutters. "Does it still hurt a lot?"

"Hell yes," I groan. "It's easing a little. But not as much as I'd thought."

"I think you may have cracked a rib," Katniss says, her lips a firm line.

"But they said that I didn't," I protest.

"They sugarcoat things there, Madge," she sighs. "Told Peeta after the Games that there was no chance they'd amputate his leg. He asked again and again, and they told him there was nothing to worry about."

This frightens me. "It's...it's not broken, though?"

"No," Katniss' expression is stony, "it'd be a lot worse. A few cracks. But the bruises won't go away for a long while. Even after you don't feel the pain, they'll be there. Plan on showing off your midsection anytime soon?" she teases.

"Yeah, right," I roll my eyes. Katniss wraps the bandage tightly, over some fresh salve, and I cry out in pain. She looks at me sadly. "I'm sorry, Madge."

"Don't be," I smile. "I'm so grateful to be here."

Katniss' eyes brighten only momentarily before she tentatively begins to speak again. "I'm sorry I told Gale," she squeaks. I look down at the sheets, not wanting to have this conversation. "Really, Madge," she blurts, "he was driving himself fucking insane." I don't answer. She continues. "He was punching things and he didn't do anything but work for days and he was crying and he was so _upset_ and he didn't even talk to his family -"

"Katniss," I say softly, and she looks up at me. "It's...I was mad. You promised not to tell. But...if Gale was really acting like that..." I can't be so selfish as to be angry with Katniss if her breaking her promise saved Gale from himself. "Then I forgive you."

"Thanks, Madge," she says softly, helping me get re-dressed. "I get so worried about him. Are you going to tell him you're here?"

I knit my eyebrows. "I, uh," I don't know what to say, "later."

"I hope you do soon," she says grimly. "You never know when he'll break."

_Gale Hawthorne,_ I think to myself, _broke long ago._

* * *

_A/N: Gadge coming soon. Like maybe a few chapters soon. ;) Have I made you wait long enough?_


	20. Bandages

**Disclaimer: Sorry this took so long, I wanted to pace the story out. I'm working on chapter 24 at the moment which might be a pretty important chapter, like this one...enjoy! (SUPER BOWL SUNDAY!)**

* * *

I've been laying in bed for the past three days and my bruises, as Katniss told me, are still just as intense. My face is nearly healed, though. My mind has wandered every place it can go, and Gale walks into my thoughts too often.

"Madge," Katniss clears her throat one early morning as we sit (well, Katniss and Peeta sit; I lay on the couch), "you've been here for a little while. I was wondering if you'd like to visit with Thom and Bristel."

I stutter. I would like to see them, the thought only occured to me now, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. But do I want them to see me like this? Pathetic? Bruised? Tired? Hopeless? Weak?

Who am I kidding? They've seen me like that my whole life.

"Sure," I clear my throat. "When?"

"Soon," she says. "I'm sure they'll be so happy to see you. I'll go call now." She hops up and walks briskly into the kitchen, grinning.

Peeta looks over at me and smiles. "She talked to me about that for a long time," he tells me. "She wants you so badly to be happy."

I smile back, somewhat bittersweetly. "I do too, Peeta," I sigh. "You have no idea."

* * *

_Gale's POV_

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" I hear Bristel exclaim. She's on the phone with someone. I raise an eyebrow at Thom, who shrugs.

A little while later, Bristel calls Thom into the kitchen, who shrugs again before getting up to go talk to her. It's a long talk, and all I hear are murmurs, concerned and happy and excited and nervous. It scares me a little. After what seems like forever, Thom saunters back into the room.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Uh, Gale," he begins carefully, "something came up. Bristel and I have to go."

"Go?" I raise an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Thom stutters, "yeah. We just...something came up. You...you can come back later, okay? This weekend? I don't know."

I don't have a problem with leaving; I've been here for a few days. But something doesn't seem right. "You sure everything's okay?" I ask, rising to my feet.

"Absolutely," Bristel assures me brightly, walking in to stand beside Thom. "We're sorry, it just came up. If you'd like to come back again soon, Thom'll give you a call."

"Okay," I agree, still uneasy. I want to know more, but I don't push it. "Thanks for everything, guys."

They both hug me, and after a few minutes, I'm out the door, heading home.

Something isn't right.

* * *

"Gale, you're back!" Posy wraps herself around my leg. I chuckle. "You're getting a bit too old for that, Pose," I smile as she unlatches herself and grabs my hand, leading me into the living room.

"Hey, Gale," Vick smiles. "How're you?"

"Great," I grin. "Where's Ma?"

"Right here," she chimes, coming up from the basement. She wraps her arms around me. "You feeling better?" she murmurs against my shoulder. I squeeze her in a quick hug. "Yeah," I say, smiling down at her. "Something came up for Bristel and Thom. Wouldn't tell me what it is."

She grins. "Don't be nosy, dear. How's work going?"

Thom and I had been walking to work together the past few days. "Still asking for people to move to 2," I scratch the back of my neck. "They said they'd give us a while to decide."

"Just keep your best interest in mind, honey," she says softly. "Don't let us rule your life."

I laugh quietly. "Really, Ma, it's fine," I assure her. "I'm happy to stay."

We spend the rest of the night talking, playing games, watching TV. And I forget all about the funny little blonde that screwed with my heart. At least until I go to bed.

The. without meaning to, I cry. Again.

* * *

_Madge's POV_

Katniss sits on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to me tell stories of how my life has been since I left Twelve. She's a great listener; laughs, frowns, raises her eyebrows all at the right parts. I tell her about the people I've met, about Caesar, about the crowds, about the good things. She tells me what it was like to live in 4, about her mom, about Annie and her son, about the beaches, about her and Peeta's talks of having children.

"Do you want any?" I ask. Katniss and Peeta's children would be beautiful, no doubt about it.

"Oh," she blushes, "I...I don't know."

"Have you been trying?" I grin, nudging her.

"Madge!" her skin grows pinker. "I...not really."

"Good," I tease. "I don't need that keeping me awake at night."

Her mouth opens in shock as she laughs, embarrassed. "Don't do that!" she giggles. "What the hell, Madge."

We talk some more, and the topic shifts to Thom and Bristel. "What do I say?" I tug at my shirt nervously. "What do I tell them?"

"They know about the...the incident, and your...injuries," Katniss says carefully. "Just be yourself. Tell them your stories."

"I guess so," I sigh. Still, it takes a while to fall asleep that night - and _not_ because Peeta and Katniss have resumed their attempts to have children.

* * *

"Madge, stop fidgeting," Katniss places a firm hand on my shoulder. "I promise. It's going to be fine." Katniss had only talked to Bristel yesterday morning; I was surprised they could just come so soon. But Peeta laughed and said, "They've waited five years. That isn't too soon."

I've made myself presentable, brushed my hair, washed my face. It hurts to sit; the bandages have made my whole midsection stiff, not to mention the pain. I close my eyes tightly and think of the last time I saw Thom or Bristel. Katniss wasn't with us, she had been preparing for the Quell. I had no idea I'd be leaving so soon; it was only a few days before. We'd all spent some time in the meadow, talking, laughing, teasing. Nothing of substance.

Bristel's house was the first stop; Thom's was the second, but he had always gone to walk me home before he went himself. Bristel had bid goodbye to both of us, still smiling radiantly and laughing about a joke we'd made. Then as we started walking towards my house, he lightly wrapped his fingers in my own.

It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome gesture. Thom and I had been some sort of item long before that, a year or so, and then we decided it just wasn't good for us. So it wasn't foreign, his hand in mine. But I certainly did not expect it.

We didn't say anything til we got to my house. The porch light shaded his features, and his eyes were watery. "Madge," his voice was raspy, "please don't ever forget me."

I had no idea what he meant; how could I forget _Thom?_

Slowly, his fingers traced along my jawline; it made me shiver. With his other hand he tangled his fingers in my hair, and leaned down so our noses touched.

"Please," he said again, "don't forget me."

Then his lips were on mine, dry and warm, soft and inviting. Without hesitation I laced my fingers across the back of his neck, leaning into him. All too soon he pulled away.

"I had to do that," he'd whispered. "Just...just one more time." And then he was gone.

I shake my head of the memory. I know things are different now; Thom and Bristel are _married._ But Thom's words still made me shiver; it's like he knew of my fate.

The doorbell rings, and I jump. "Oh, they're here!" I hear Katniss exclaim. Peeta smiles sympathetically. "Don't worry," he says quietly, "just be yourself," before jumping up to follow Katniss to the front door.

I suck in a breath and then hold in the cry of pain, awkwardly shifting so that I'm sitting up. I'm looking at my nails when I hear both their voices, crashing down into my ears, and I shiver.

"Madge!" their voices clash harmoniously, and I force myself to look up. There's pain in Thom's eyes, sadness in Bristel's, and I just want to take it all away. But I grin, knowing all too well how to smile through any other emotion. "Hey," I muster, as quietly as possible. They both take seats beside me, and I can't help but feel my lips curve unforcibly, the mask melting away.

"Long time no see," Thom quips, and I burst into laughter, tears of pain pricking in my eyes but I don't care. I lean into his side, taking Bristel's hand and squeezing it. "Hell, Undersee," he teases. "You don't have to humor me."

I exhale deeply, and I can't hold back the flinching as my ribs tingle sharply. They both notice, and they both frown, but I don't acknowledge it. Not now.

"Look at you," I turn to Bristel. "Stop it. You're so beautiful."

"Don't even start with that," she smirks. "Thom here was just telling me about the little thing you guys had."

I stop myself just in time before I say _yeah, me too,_ but I still blush. Thom rolls his eyes, smiling. "That's over," we both say, at the same time, and Bristel giggles. I shift my position, biting my tongue hard to fight any pain finding its way through my vocal cords. "Really, it is," I smile slightly.

"Besides," Thom smiles, too, "I doubt Undersee will be kissing anyone anytime soon."

Bristel shoots him a hard glance, but I grin. "He's right, you know. Now, how've you been?"

* * *

"Shh," I hear a deep murmur sound in my ears. I'm mostly asleep, I can register that much. Who is talking, I don't know.

"She's asleep," the voice says. It is Thom. Bristel murmurs something back, and soon I hear the door close. She must be gone. I almost let worry overtake me; did I do something wrong? but then I'm asleep again.

It seems like only minutes have gone by when I wake a second time; I gasp when I realize my head has been on Thom's lap. I try to get up hurriedly, but he groggily pushes me down. "Stop it, Madge," his voice is laden with sleep, "you're okay."

"Why'd Bristel leave?" I ask. "This morning?"

"We stayed after you fell asleep," he mutters. "She's asleep upstairs. It's okay."

"I-is she-is she mad?"

"Damn, Madge," his voice gets a little louder, "no. Go back to sleep. It's_ fine."_

"You sure?" I ask, and I feel his fingers tangling in my hair. "I'm sure," he says softly. "It's five in the morning. _Go back to sleep."_

Before I can protest, I am sleeping again.

* * *

_Gale's POV_

Two mornings after I leave Thom and Bristel's, I decide to visit the woods. Only when I am reaching for my coat do I realize, in my hurry, I'd left it at their house.

"Fuck," I mutter, and Ma, who is sweeping the floor, gives me a pointed look. "Sorry," I say to her. "Left my jacket at Thom and Bristel's. Be right back."

Once there, I knock on the door, but no one answers; I begin to panic, hoping nothing bad happened. They were hesitant about telling me why they'd be gone. And it's been a few days. I mean, of course they're adults, and they can be gone whenever and however long they want to be. But...the way Thom wouldn't look me in the eye. The way I was so nervously ushered out...

Trying to do some quick thinking, I figure the only other place they could be in the District would be Katniss and Peeta's. So I rush there, probably worrying more than I ought to be.

Pounding on the door, it's only a few seconds before Katniss opens it. "Gale," she croaks.

"Are Thom and Bristel okay?" I pant, out of breath.

"Yeah, Gale," she says quietly.

"They here?"

"I -"

Not wanting to hear any bullshit, I nervously peek around her shoulder. And then I see it.

Madge is sleeping peacefully in Thom's lap, his eyes pointedly avoiding mine, Her shirt ridden up her stomach, which is completely covered in stiff white bandages.

* * *

_A/N: thoughts?_


	21. Stay

**Disclaimer: do you guys actually read these? Lol, I don't know why I even put them as disclaimers, half the time they aren't even actual disclaimers. Anyway, not entirely satisfied with this chapter and yes it is short, but I think you guys will like it. ;)**

* * *

Before I register anything else, I'm rushing past Katniss into her living room. She calls for me to stop, something about explaining, but I don't want to hear it.

"Gale," Thom says, his voice serious but his eyes lit up in amusement. "You're going to wake her up. Shh."

"Care to explain, Thom?" I cross my arms, trying to avoid looking at her; it'll tear me apart. "Why the fuck is she even here?"

"I'll let her tell you that," he shakes his head. After I've run out of energy to glare at him, I tentatively let my eyes travel down to her. Her eyebrows are knit, her hair pushed out of her face, tumbling over her shoulder and into Thom's lap. Her lips are slightly parted, her arms crossed over her ribs, which are, like I noticed, completely bandaged. She is wearing a t-shirt and shorts, her knees bent lazily.

Nervously, I look back at Thom; seeing her has suddenly taken all of the anger out of my body. "I'm sorry," I choke out. "I just... I was worried about you guys so I came here and I didn't expect this -"

"It's fine, Gale," Thom's tone is soft. "There's nothing going on between us."

"I know _that_," I say, embarrassed. I admit I did think the opposite for a minute, but I push that away now. "I...this is what you guys had to leave for, isn't it?"

He nods. Then a few seconds pass, and he looks back up at me. "I'm tired," he smiles. "I think I'll go join Bristel upstairs. Do you want to...?"

My breath hitches. "Is she going to wake up?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"Here," he whispers, carefully lifting her up as I take his place. She shifts in her sleep, murmuring. Holding my breath, I sit down, holding her in my arms. Thom smiles softly at me and quietly walks out of the room to the stairwell.

I look at the clock; it's 8. Hopefully I have a few hours before she wakes up. Carefully, I trace each curve and valley and indent on her face, just barely releasing the breath I'd been holding. She's so beautiful; even when her face is twisted with worry and her eyebrows are furrowed and her hair is a mess. This is the girl that saved my life. As much as I want to, I know I won't be able to ask her about it for a while.

Now, upon closer inspection, I realize that half of her face is swollen and much redder than the other half. Then the rest of the realization crashes down on me.

Madge was in 11, exactly where her father was sent back to after I got him fired. After he threatened that if I saw her again he'd kill us both.

I try to think how utterly terrifying this encounter, or encounters, I don't know, must have been for her. Carefully, I run my finger across the soft threads of the bandages, wondering what her skin looks like underneath, what happened.

Suddenly her face contorts, in pain or fear, I don't know, and she's murmuring, "No, no, no..." I frantically look around, awkwardly kind of waiting for Katniss or Peeta to rush in. She's not going to be happy to see me. But they must be outside or upstairs or something, dammit.

She sharply turns onto her side and then cries out in pain. Her eyes open, and her hands fly up to her ribs; tears fall down her cheeks.

"Thom," she gasps, and there's a prick of pain in my chest. "Thom, I, he hurt me again," the tears fall faster and she squeezes her eyes shut. "Thom?"

"No," I say softly as she tries rolling onto her back again. "Come on," I gently turn her over to face me. "You're okay, Madge."

Her face is a rainbow of emotions; she looks shocked, then scared, then happy, then confused. Her eyes narrow.

"You," she mutters in disbelief.

"Yeah, it's me," I smile. "Sorry to disappoint."

"No," she shakes her head quickly. "No, I...Gale," she sobs my name, and the tears are flooding out of her crystal blue eyes again. She shudders, hard, and then winces. "Dammit," she exclaims. "This hurts so fucking bad, Gale," she cries. "Everything. I..."

"Shh," I whisper, bringing her up to me so her head rests in the crook of my neck and her legs sprawl across my lap. "Madge," my breathing is shallow. "It's okay."

"I left you," she croaks. "Why do you care?"

"I never stopped," I say, my voice weak, Katniss' words to me ringing in my ears.

"Gale," her voice is watery as she repeats my name again. "He...he meant it. My dad."

So it _was_ him. I hold back my comments about wanting to kill the fucking bastard and hold her closer. "I'm here."

"Stay," she says, nuzzling into me.

All the thoughts I've had about forgetting Madge are gone. Things are different now that she's tangible, not a dream or a nightmare. And she's not angry. "Always."

* * *

After Madge asked me to stay, we just sat there. We didn't talk about her injuries, we didn't talk about our lack of communication, we didn't talk about the kiss, we didn't talk about her dad. We didn't talk about the redness and swelling on the side of her face or the scars I could now see on her thighs, previously covered by makeup. We didn't talk about how she secretly came to Twelve, so close to my _house,_ and we didn't talk about how she'd been in the same position with Thom just hours ago.

We most definitely didn't talk about how I now know that she saved my life with the morphling, something that still burns at me when I think about it.

Peeta walked in first, apologizing because he and Katniss "fell asleep" (the validity of this I sort of question), talking before he rounded the corner into the living room. When he saw us, he stopped, but he couldn''t hide the smile on his lips. He apologized again. I didn't have the heart to be snippy, so I just told him that Thom got tired. Katniss, though, reacts differently.

"Sorry," she says immediately, awkwardly fidgeting. "She...she didn't want you to know."

Somewhere deep inside me is an inferno that holds all the anger I could possibly have for Madge at this point. Lying to me about the morphling, kissing me and then abandoning me, not telling me about this. But I just sigh. "Catnip," I run my fingers through my hair tiredly, "I don't have the energy to be angry anymore."

"She's really busted up," she murmurs, looking down at the floor. "Her ribs are ten different colors." I flinch. "She'll tell you what happened," Katniss' voice is soft. "She was so scared, she didn't know what you would think."

"I don't know what I think," I confess. "The anger's in there somewhere."

"She's broken, Gale," Katniss looks up quickly. "Don't break the shards in half." Then she leaves.

Thom is more straightforward; I nod along to what he says, still absorbed in Katniss' words. He apologizes and explains that she was so tired and she looked so _shattered_ and he didn't know what else to do -

"Thom," I smile gently. "Please. Don't worry about it. Madge and I, we'll work it out." Bristel nods sympathetically at Thom's side. "We're going to go," she says softly. I smile, "Thanks," looking up at them.

"No problem," Thom's voice is gentle, "and, um...sorry about all this."

"Thom, it's fine," I shake my head, smiling. Madge hasn't said a word; her eyes are closed but I know she isn't sleeping. "See you guys."

They wave, and the door shuts. Then I remember I have to work. It's 9:30. Half an hour until I need to leave. "Madge," I whisper softly. She doesn't stir. "Madge,"

"Mmm?" she opens her eyes. I can't hold back my smile. She grips the hem of my shirt. "Don't leave," she pleads. "I'm so _alone_."

My heart shatters. "I have to go to work," I tell her. "Working late tonight."

"Mm," she murmurs again. "Come back soon."

"You know I will," my voice cracks as I lightly caress her face. I want to kiss her, her forehead, her cheek, her lips, anything. But I don't. "Take me to my room?" she asks sleepily.

"Of course." Carefully, I pick her up. She's so light. Climbing up the stairs, I look around. Fuck, there has to be thirty rooms in on this floor.

"First one on the left," she says, realizing my confusion. "There's too many rooms in this house."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, opening the door. Her room is small, the only thing I recognize is her bulletin board. It's the same as before, I think. No new photographs.

"The one you took with me that night," she says as I lay her on her bed and pull the blanket up over her chest, "it's...it's in my drawer. I didn't want to put it up."

"Why not?"

"It's a secret," she smiles. "Here, it's in that one." She points to the nightstand drawer on the side of her bed. I open it, and sure enough, the only thing in it is the photo of us. "Madge," I stutter softly, taking it between my fingertips.

"Take it with you," her eyes flicker up to mine. "I want you to have it."

"I have one already," I remind her.

"With Posy," she laughs. "Please, take it."

Without another word I slip it in my pocket, smiling at her as I close the door softly. Walking down that staircase is the hardest thing I've had to do in a long time. I want to crawl in bed with her, hold her, keep her safe.

Katniss is in the kitchen, writing something furiously on a piece of paper at the table. She looks nervously up at me. "I'm sorry, again," she says timidly.

"Catnip," I groan. "It's fine."

"But do you understand why I couldn't tell you?" she quips. I shake my head no; I don't, to be honest. "Madge's manager or something, she called me one day and said something happened to Madge. She didn't really tell me what, but I knew it was her dad."

My body tenses again. I've tried not to think about Mr. Undersee; the things I've pictured are surely unhealthy.

"I didn't expect it," she continues. "But the next day, she was here. And it was this big secret. And I...I thought you guys were...done."

"Can't finish what you didn't start," my voice is low. But I know we started _something_. Katniss doesn't respond, only looks at me sadly and returns to her papers. So I bid her goodbye and head out the door.

Once out, I'm met with Peeta. "Gale," he nods. "Hope you'll come back soon."

"Me too," I respond sadly, "Seeing her like that..."

"She loves you, Gale," Peeta's expression is soft. "I can tell. The way she talks about you, that's...that's how I talked about Katniss."

I nod slowly, looking down at the ground. "See you, Peeta."

And of all the questions I have as I walk away, one burns at the back of my mind; one that I don't want to let myself ask:

Do I love Madge Undersee?

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter and it met your expectations! Ugh, not enough Gadge... Thanks so much for all the reviews!_


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